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AUNT  HANNAH  AND  MARTHA 
AND  JOHN 

BY 

PANSY  (MRS.  G.  R.  ALDEN) 

AND 

MRS.    C.   M.   LIVINGSTON 


Author  of 
Divers  Women 
Profiles 

Modern  Prophets 
From  Different  Standpoints 
and  others 


BOSTON 

D    LOTHROP    COMPANY 

WASHINGTON    STREET   OPPOSITE    BROMFIELD 


COPYRIGHT,  1890, 

BY 
D.  LOTHROP  COMPANY. 


252.0 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   I.  PAGE 

AUNT  HANNAH'S  LETTER  TO  HER  SISTER     .  i 

CHAPTER  II. 

MIXED  THINGS  .  .  .  .  .  15 

CHAPTER    III. 
GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS       .  .  2/ 

CHAPTER  IV. 

"  TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  "  43 

CHAPTER  V. 

PERTURBATIONS  .  .  .  .  .  55 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  SMOKY  ATMOSPHERE         ....  73 

CHAPTER  VII. 

BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS      .       86 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

IMPROMPTU  VISITS     .....  IOI 


iV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

RECONCILIATIONS        .  .  .  .  .  I  I/ 

CHAPTER  X. 

MORAL  EVOLUTION    .  .  .  .  .  133 

CHAPTER  XI. 

" DON'T  REPEAT  IT"          ....          147 
CHAPTER  XII. 

LESSONS 164 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

PERSECUTION  OF  THE  SAINTS      .  .  .  1/8 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

CROSS-LOTS 194 

CHAPTER  XV. 

CHARACTER  STUDIES  ....  2O8 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THIS  WORLD  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE   .     .      223 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES    .     .      .      242 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"WITHOUT  ARE  DOGS "        .  .  .  .  256 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

INTRICACIES      ......  2/5 

CHAPTER  XX. 

AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON     .     .     .     2Q2 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

EMBARRASSING  QUESTIONS  .  .  .  309 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

FANATICISM        .  .  .  .  .  .  325 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PRECIPITATION  .....  342 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

COMPLICATIONS  .  .  .  .  .  354 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  MODERN  MARTYR  .  .  .  .  37O 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"THREE  OF  US" 384 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

INTUITION 398 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
"J.  s.  R." 412 


AUNT  HANNAH,  AND  MARTHA,  AND 
JOHN. 

CHAPTER   I. 

BY    MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER. 

MAPLEWOOD,  Jan.  15,  1889. 
MY  DEAR  JANE: 

Do  you  know  it  is  just  thirty  years  to-day  since 
you  were  married  and  started  on  your  long  jour- 
ney ?  How  dreadful  it  seemed  to  us  older  ones 
then  to  give  up  our  little  sister  to  foreign  mission- 
ary work.  It  was  harder  than  you  knew,  for  we 
felt  just  as  if  we  were  giving  you  up  to  death. 

Thirty  years  is  a  long  time,  but  it  doesn't  seem 
such  a  stretch  to  me  now  as  it  did  then.  It  is 
surprising  how  time  goes  along.  I'm  getting  old, 
but  I  don't  believe  it.  Although  you've  been 
home  three  times  to  see  us,  I  always  think  of  you 


2         AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER. 

as  looking  just  as  you  did  the  day  you  were  a 
bride.  We  shall  think  of  you  as  we  do  of  our 
friends  who  go  to  heaven  young.  You  will  always 
be  young  to  us.  I  remember  I  thought  it  was 
almost  wicked  to  sacrifice  you  —  such  a  pretty, 
fresh  flower,  to  be  buried  in  that  wild  land.  The 
Lord  has  taught  me  better.  Now,  I  am  glad  that 
our  family  gave  up  the  brightest  treasure  they 
had  to  his  service.  I  think  he  has  blest  us  more 
ever  since. 

I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you.  John  is  going 
to  be  married.  You  don't  know  all  that  means  to 
me.  It  means  a  lonesome  life.  You  know  John- 
nie was  only  five  years  old  when  Sister  Margaret 
died  and  gave  him  to  me.  You  can  not  think 
what  a  comfort  he  has  been.  It  doesn't  seem 
as  if  I  could  have  lived,  that  summer  after  I 
was  left  alone  in  the  world,  if  I  had  not  had  the 
dear  boy  to  care  for,  and  make  living  seem  worth 
while  again.  I  feel  as  though  I  had  been  a  suc- 
cess in  training  one  boy,  at  least.  To  be  sure,  he 
was  an  uncommon  child,  and  had  a  fine  start  when 
I  took  him,  because  he  had  a  remarkable  mother. 
,  She  had  taught  him  to  obey  perfectly,  and  that  is 
half  the  battle,  to  my  thinking.  He  has  always 
been  a  good,  obedient  boy  —  not  one  of  your  poky 
ones,  either.  He  is  just  running  over  with  fun 
to  this  day.  He  is  smart,  too.  They  tell  me 
John  stood  high  in  college  and  seminary.  It  does 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER.         3 

not  seem  possible  that  it  is  all  past,  and  that  he  is 
gone  out  of  this  old  house  forever,  and  is  about  to 
set  up  a  home  of  his  own.  I  thought,  when  he 
was  young,  I  was  bringing  up  somebody  that 
would  be  a  stay  to  me  in  my  old  age,  and  take  the 
farm  off  my  hands ;  bring  his  wife,  when  he  got 
one,  right  here,  and  we  would  all  work  together. 
That's  the  way  of  the  world !  Tug  and  work 
years  and  years  to  bring  something  about,  and 
then  see  your  plans  all  upset. 

But  what  am  I  saying?  Talking  exactly  like  a 
heathen.  Of  course  it  is  better,  the  way  it  has 
turned  out.  I  wanted  John  to  be  a  farmer  and 
work  for  me,  and  the  Lord  wanted  him  to  be  a 
minister  and  work  for  him.  Well,  I'm  glad  he 
had  his  way  and  did  not  let  me  have  mine.  I 
might  have  seen  long  ago,  if  I  hadn't  been  blind 
as  a  bat,  what  was  coming,  by  the  way  things 
went.  That  boy  never  took  to  farming.  He  did 
his  work  well,  to  be  sure,  to  please  me,  but  I 
could  see  he  hated  it,  all  the  same.  He  was  fond 
of  books  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was 
in  school.  I'm  sorry,  since  I  begin  to  get  my 
eyes  open,  that  I  opposed  him  so  much  when  he 
wanted  to  go  to  college,  and  that  I  grumbled  and 
fretted  because  things  did  not  go  my  way.  It 
looks  like  fighting  against  God,  but  I  did  not  see 
it  so  then. 

John  has  accepted  a  call  to  the  church  in  Belle- 


4         AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER. 

ville.  I  heard  him  preach  his  first  sermon  last 
Sunday,  and  I  must  say  I  had  hard  work  to  keep 
down  my  pride.  John  is  a  good-looking  young 
man.  He's  what  you  might  call  handsome.  He 
looks  well  in  the  pulpit,  as  if  he  belonged  there. 
I  hadn't  an  idea  the  boy  could  preach  as  he  does. 
It  did  not  sound  much  like  some  beginners'  ser- 
mons—  all  froth  and  words.  John  must  have  had 
a  deep  experience  to  preach  like  that.  I  might 
almost  have  thought  that  some  of  it  came  from 
Baxter  or  Bunyan,  if  I  didn't  know  that  he  would 
sooner  cut  off  his  fingers  than  to  do  such  a  thing. 
I  don't  want  to  take  any  of  the  credit  to  my- 
self; but  if  there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  I 
have  tried  to  do,  it  is  to  teach  him  to  be  true  and 
clean  throughout.  I  know  John  has  been  that. 
When  he  would  come  home  on  vacations  I  used  to 
look  him  over  as  soon  as  he  got  in  the  house.  I'm 
pretty  sharp-sighted,  if  I  am  an  old  woman.  John 
couldn't  have  deceived  me  very  well.  I  always 
saw  the  same  honest,  pure  boy  that  went  away. 
He  never  smelled  of  tobacco  or  beer,  and  his  eyes 
looked  clear  as  crystals. 

When  I  think  it  all  over,  it  seems  as  if  the 
Lord  had  put  great  honor  on  a  poor  old  woman 
like  me  to  allow  me  such  a  privilege  as  bringing 
up  a  minister  for  him.  You'll  think  there's 
nothing  in  my  head  but  John,  and  it's  about  true 
that  there  isn't. 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER.         5 

That  boy  wants  me  to  "break  up  house-keeping 
and  come  and  live  with  them ;  but  I  can't  do  that. 
The  old  farm  has  been  my  home  too  many  years 
to  think  of  leaving  it  now.  I  shall  go  right  on. 
Peter  and  Dorcas  have  been  with  me  now  ten 
years,  so  it  won't  be  much  of  a  chore,  after  all, 
to  carry  on  the  farm.  They  know  every  crook 
and  turn  as  well  as  I  do. 

I've  just  had  a  letter  from  John,  and  nothing 
will  do  but  I  must  go  to  Belleville  and  put  things 
to  rights  a  little  in  the  parsonage,  and  be  there  to 
welcome  him  and  "Mattie,"  as  he  calls  her.  I'm 
astonished  that  John  should  nick-name  his  own 
wife!  What  is  the  use  of  putting  an  "ie"  to  her 
name  when  it  doesn't  belong  there  ?  To  think  of 
a  woman  being  willing  to  be  called  "Lizzie,"  or 
"Katie,"  or  "Jennie,"  when  she  might  have 
"Elizabeth,"  or  " Katherine,"  or  "Jane" — good 
substantial  names.  I  shall  call  her  "Martha." 

I  suppose  I  must  humor  the  boy,  and  drag  my 
old  bones  over  there.  To  be  sure,  it  is  not  much 
of  a  journey,  but  I'm  not  so  young  as  I  used  to 
be,  and  the  snow  is  deep.  I  have  to  take  such  an 
early  start  in  the  morning  —  the  stage  starts 
before  daylight  —  that  I  can't  finish  your  letter 
till  I  get  back. 

THURSDAY  EVENING. 
Well,  your  letter  has  lain  by  quite  a  spell.     I've 


6        AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER. 

been  and  done  it  up  and  got  back.  Of  course 
you  want  to  hear  all  about  it.  I  took  Dorcas 
with  me  to  help. 

The  parsonage  is  a  pretty  little  white  house, 
with  green  blinds.  John  had  been  at  work  there 
himself  for  a  week  before  he  went  away,  putting 
down  carpets  and  setting  up  furniture.  His 
wife's  folks  bought  all  that.  Then  I  gave  John  a 
horse  and  buggy,  and  cow  —  one  of  my  best 
Alderneys ;  I  gave  the  dishes  besides.  I  don't 
know  but  I  was  a  little  extravagant,  but  I  bought 
a  China  tea-set.  Maybe  it's  a  whim,  but  I 
always  think  tea  tastes  better  out  of  the  little 
thin,  clear  cups,  with  pink  flowers  on  them,  than 
it  does  out  of  the  common  ones.  So  Dorcas  and 
I  had  work  enough  to  do,  unpacking  and  washing 
the  dishes,  and  setting  them  up  in  the  bit  of  a 
closet.  Then  we  swept  and  made  up  the  beds. 
John's  wife's  folks  are  well-to-do.  They  have 
supplied  her  with  bedding  —  and  that  of  the  best, 
enough  to  last  her  always,  I  guess.  The  furni- 
ture is  all  nice,  too —  "plain,"  John  says,  but  it 
doesn't  look  very  plain  to  me. 

When  we  got  all  the  rooms  put  in  order  the 
place  looked  as  pretty  as  a  bird's  nest.  John's 
study  has  a  green  carpet  on  it  that  looks  like 
moss,  and  the  parlor  carpet  looks  as  if  somebody 
had  taken  handfuls  of  little  fine  flowers  and  vines, 
and  sprinkled  them  all  about  on  the  white  ground- 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER.         / 

work.  The  sitting-room  carpet,  too,  is  lively- 
looking,  the  furniture  is  brown,  and  two  large 
windows  let  the  sunshine  pour  in  —  now  that 
doesn't  seem  very  nice  to  you  in  that  hot  country, 
does  it  ?  But  you  mustn't  forget  how  you  used  to 
love  the  sunshine  in  your  old  home.  I  really 
enjoyed  arranging  it  all,  only  I  could  not  help 
thinking,  what  if  she  should  be  a  little  upstart, 
and  poke  fun  at  me  and  my  way  of  regula- 
ting. Well,  we  got  it  done  the  day  they  were 
expected — the  baking  and  all.  I  took  over  a  jar 
of  butter,  and  then  I  put  into  that  cellar  and 
pantry  everything  that  could  be  needed  for  house- 
keeping—  groceries,  you  know,  and  flour  and  veg- 
etables, and  —  well,  everything.  Then  we  baked 
up  a  lot  of  nice  things. 

How  pleasant  it  all  looked  to  me  when  I  sat 
down  in  the  rocking-chair  waiting  for  them.  The 
whole  house  was  warm ;  the  kitchen  door  stood 
open  a  little,  and  the  tea-kettle  was  singing  on 
the  stove.  Everything  was  ready  but  making  the 
cream  biscuits.  John  is  very  fond  of  cream  bis- 
cuits, and  I  always  made  them  when  I  wanted  to 
give  him  a  special  treat.  By  the  time  I  had  got 
my  biscuits  well  in  the  oven,  and  the  tea-table 
set,  the  sleigh  drove  to  the  door. 

I  was  so  glad  to  see  John  back  safe  and  well 
that  I  almost  forgot  he  had  a  wife.  When  he 
introduced  her,  I  expected  her  to  put  out  three 


8      AUNT  HANNAH'S  LETTER  TO  HER  SISTER. 

fingers ;  but  instead,  she  came  and  put  both  arms 
around  my  neck,  and  gave  me  a  real  hug  and 
warm  kiss.  She  was  dressed  in  some  soft  brown 
stuff;  in  fact,  she  was  brown  all  over  —  brown 
eyes,  brown  hair  and  brown  ribbons ;  everything 
matched.  How  she  got  ribbons  to  exactly  match 
her  hair  and  eyes  I  don't  see.  Her  cheeks  were 
just  a  little  pink,  like  my  hyacinths.  Such  a 
pretty,  delicate  little  thing.  I  don't  wonder  John 
fell  in  love  with  her.  She  looks~  young.  What 
can  she  know  about  housekeeping  ?  She  seems 
just  about  as  fit  to  take  upon  herself  the  manage- 
ment of  a  house  and  the  cares  of  a  minister's  wife 
as  a  butterfly.  I  know  it  is  said  ministers  are 
poor  hands  to  pick  out  wives,  but  I  did  hope  John 
would  have  a  little  common  sense,  and  not  be 
taken  by  a  pretty  face.  Well,  I'm  not  going  to 
croak.  She's  an  affectionate  little  thing,  anyhow, 
and  treats  me  as  if  I  were  the  greatest  lady  of  the 
land.  John  thinks  I  didn't  see  the  roguish  face 
he  put  on  when  I  called  her  "  Martha,"  nor  how 
her  cheeks  got  pinker  than  usual,  and  she  almost 
laughed,  then  turned  it  off.  Young  folks  don't 
see  into  everything,  though  you  couldn't  make 
them  believe  it.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  if  she  has 
a  pretty  face,  if  she  only  makes  John  a  good, 
loving,  prudent  wife.  But  dear  me,  I  have  my 
fears.  She  looks  too  cityfied  to  make  a  good 
housekeeper.  I'll  miss  my  guess  if  I  don't  find 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER.        9 

that  house  all  sixes  and  sevens  in  three  months' 
time. 

I  must  own  up,  too,  that  I'm  a  little  bit  disap- 
pointed, for,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  I  had  a  wife 
picked  out  for  John  myself,  though  he  didn't 
know  a  breath  about  it.  Things  are  queer,  any- 
how! It  seems  to  me  as  if  anybody  could  see 
with  half  an  eye  that  Samantha  Brown  was  the 
sort  of  wife  he  needed.  You  remember  her 
mother,  don't  you  —  Cynthia  Hancock?  She 
married  Eli  Brown,  and  they  have  lived  thirty 
years  next  neighbors  to  us.  Samantha  is  just 
like  her  mother  —  smart  and  economical.  She 
is  a  master  hand  at  all  sorts  of  work.  It  is  hard 
to  find  her  equal  in  making  bread  and  biscuits 
and  doughnuts.  And  such  butter  as  she  can 
make  —  sweet  and  yellow  and  solid!  Not  many 
butter-makers  like  the  Browns.  Then  Samantha 
can  turn  her  hand  to  almost  anything.  She 
makes  her  own  dresses,  and  she  could  have  made 
John's  shirts.  She  was  a  good  scholar,  too,  when 
she  was  in  school.  To  be  sure,  she  has  not  what 
they  call  "  style,"  neither  does  she  look  as  if  the 
north  wind  would  blow  her  away.  To  my  mind 
she  is  a  wholesome-looking  girl,  and  I  like  her. 
But  what  is  the  use  of  talking  all  this?  I  sup- 
pose if  Providence  had  intended  her  for  John,  the 
boy  would  have  taken  a  notion  to  her. 

I  wish  I  could  get  over  the  habit  of  meddling 


io    AUNT  HANNAH'S  LETTER  TO  HER  SISTER. 

and  fretting  about  the  way  things  go.  As  if  the 
Lord  needed  any  of  my  help  to  manage  affairs ! 
Only  one  can't  help  feeling  sometimes  that  things 
are  getting  all  wrong  when  you  look  at  it  one 
way.  Now,  why  John  should  go  and  marry  that 
little  delicate  creature,  with  her  ribbons  and  ruf- 
fles and  fine  manners  —  who  will  most  likely  be 
sick  half  the  time,  and  have  to  hire  her  house- 
work done  and  her  sewing  in  the  bargain  —  when 
there  stood  Samantha  Brown,  strong  and  smart 
and  sensible,  and  pious  besides,  ready  to  jump 
at  the  chance,  of  course  —  I  know  not.  And 
what's  more,  I  shall  never  be  wiser  by  fretting 
over  it.  I  should  think  I  would  have  learned  a 
lesson  when  you  were  married.  You  never  knew 
how  much  opposed  I  felt  to  your  marrying  a  mis- 
sionary. I  was  sure  your  health  would  break 
down,  sure  you  were  too  young,  sure  you  were 
not  suited  to  the  work.  But  how  grandly  it  all 
turned  out !  He  does  know  best. 

I  want  to  speak  of  another  matter  now.  You 
ask  if  I  am  satisfied  that  I  am  doing  my  share  of 
the  work  our  Master  left  us  to  do.  You  did  well 
to  ask  that  question,  Jane.  I  have  been  a  beetle- 
headed  woman  for  years,  I'll  admit.  When  I  had 
given  some  flannel  to  old  Mrs.  Betts  for  her  rheu- 
matism, and  sent  some  potatoes  and  wood  to  the 
only  other  poor  family  we  had,  and  put  a  dollar 
here  and  there  among  the  different  objects,  I 


AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER.      I  I 

seemed  to  feel  that  I  had  about  done  my  part. 
But  I've  had  what  you  might  call  an  experience, 
and  you  are  the  only  living  soul  I  shall  ever  tell  it 
to.  I  always  had  my  own  way  of  keeping  my 
accounts ;  whenever  I  sold  anything  I  felt  that 
part  of  it  belonged  to  the  Lord  —  a  wonderful 
small  part,  though  —  so  one  of  the  columns  held 
what  was  set  apart  for  him,  the  other  column  was 
for  myself.  But  one  day  when  I  was  having  my 
yearly  reckoning,  it  struck  me  all  of  a  sudden 
what  a  difference  there  was  in  the  columns  when 
they  were  footed  up.  How  much  better  I  had 
treated  myself  than  I  had  my  Lord!  I  didn't 
like  the  looks  of  it  at  all.  The  five  dollars  that  I 
had  set  down  for  Foreign  Missions,  that  had 
seemed  so  large  to  me,  dwindled  away  to  nothing. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  Master  was  sitting  over 
against  the  treasury  again,  and  seeing,  not  what 
all  the  people  put  in,  but  me  only,  of  the  whole 
world,  as  if  he  stood  and  went  over  that  account- 
book  with  me,  and  then  gave  me  such  a  look  — 
something  as  he  gave  to  Peter.  Then  my  heart 
melted,  and  I  saw  everything  clear  as  day  for  a 
few  minutes  —  this  life,  and  the  next  one,  and 
how  I  had  been  robbing  him. 

That  was  the  most  wonderful  night  I  ever 
spent.  There  was  no  sleeping  done  by  me.  I 
made  an  assignment  of  farm  and  everything  to  my 
dear  Lord,  and  such  peace  and  comfort  as  I  had 


12    AUNT  HANNAH'S  LETTER  TO  HER  SISTER. 

in  doing  it !  Does  he  send  his  angels  down  yet 
to  speak  to  stupid  souls,  or  even  come  himself, 
maybe?  Blessed,  gracious  Master! 

He  made  the  way  very  plain  to  me,  for  here 
comes  your  letter  telling  how  much  you  need 
money  in  your  mission  for  another  school  build- 
ing; how  heathen  children  were  turned  away 
because  you  had  no  room  for  them.  I  had  been 
praying  for  years  a  kind  of  half-hearted  word 
about  all  the  heathen  being  brought  to  Christ, 
and  here  they  were  trying  to  come  and  could  not, 
because  I  would  not  stretch  out  my  hand  and 
give  them  a  lift ;  the  Lord's  golden  grain  growing 
on  every  side  of  me,  field  on  field,  and  I  hoarding 
it  away ! 

I  said  to  myself — "Now,  Hannah  Adams! 
Suppose  you  just  turn  things  around  for  this 
year,  at  least.  Put  yourself  in  that  other  col- 
umn." So  I  did.  After  paying  the  hired  help 
and  putting  by  enough  for  necessaries,  I  doled 
out  to  myself,  for  clothes  and  anything  else  I 
wanted,  just  the  sum  I  used  to  give  away  —  and 
it  was  precious  little,  I  can  tell  you  —  then  I  took 
the  rest,  except  some  to  our  Maplewood  poor, 
and  some  for  our  own  church,  and  carried  it  to 
the  bank.  And  here  is  the  check  for  you.  Take 
it  and  build  a  school-house ;  perhaps  it  will  hire  a 
teacher  for  a  year  beside.  I  had  to  do  it  up  in 
short  order,  for  Satan  came  parleying  round  when 


AUNT  HANNAH'S  LETTER  TO  HER  SISTER.    13 

I  woke  up  in  the  night,  telling  me  I  was  foolish  ' 
to  give  so  much,  and  I  would  end  my  days  in  the 
poor-house,  and  all  that.  I  was  afraid  if  I  waited, 
that  I  should  begin  to  agree  with  him.  But  I  shall 
be  mistaken  if  it  doesn't  turn  out  the  best  invest- 
ment I  ever  made.  If  I  wasn't  so  old  I  would 
go  myself  and  help  you. 

Now,  don't  you  go  to  thinking  that  I  tell  all 
this  in  a  boasting  spirit.  I  can  say  with  Paul  — 
" Where  is  boasting,  then?  It  is  excluded." 
Nothing  but  shame  and  confusion  of  face  belongs 
to  me.  Remember,  there  have  been  years  and 
years  of  my  life  that  I  have  been  doling  out  little 
bits  to  him,  and  all  that  time  came  seed-time  and 
harvest,  the  rains,  the  winds  and  the  sunshine, 
everything  my  crops  needed,  and  I  gathered  them 
in  and  stored  them  up  and  pulled  down  my  barns 
and  built  greater,  like  that  other  "fool,"  and  all 
the  while  that  command  upon  me,  "Go  ye  into 
all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel,"  and  I  get- 
ting round  it  by  handing  out  a  dollar  or  two! 
Oh,  I  wonder  he  took  any  such  gentle  means  as 
he  did  to  bring  me  to  my  senses,  and  make  me 
know  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

Martha  promised  to  write  me  a  long  letter 
every  week  or  two  —  to  make  up  for  taking  John 
away  from  me,  she  said.  The  child  means  to,  I 
suppose,  but  I  don't  expect  it.  I  know  just  what 
young  folks'  promises  amount  to.  If  she  does  I'll 


14      AUNT    HANNAH  S    LETTER    TO    HER    SISTER. 

send  them  to  you  sometimes,  then  you  can  get 
acquainted  with  her,  too,  for  it  is  one  of  the  best 
ways  of  knowing  what  people  are  made  of;  that 
is,  if  they  write  honest  letters. 

What  would  we  have  done  all  these  years  with- 
out yours  ?  They  are  so  bright  and  good  I 
really  think  they  ought  to  be  published,  for  you 
tell  all  the  little  things  that  one  wants  to  know 
about  a  strange  people. 

Good-by,  dear  Jane;  may  our  heavenly  Father 
bless  you  more  and  more. 

Your  loving  sister, 

HANNAH  ADAMS. 


MIXED    THINGS. 


CHAPTER    II. 


MIXED    THINGS. 

SHE  sat  quite  alone  in  the  pretty  study,  one 
trim  foot  patting  somewhat  restlessly  on  the 
mossy  greenness  of  the  carpet.  A  winsome  little 
woman,  still  in  brown,  as  Aunt  Hannah  had 
described  her.  Brown  as  to  the  soft  silk  of  her 
hair,  the  depths  of  her  eyes,  and  at  this  moment 
in  a  soft  brown  dress,  without  ribbons,  with  a  bit 
of  ruffle  about  the  throat,  the  only  thing  that 
relieved  the  brownness.  There  was  scarcely  any 
pink  on  the  cheeks  this  evening.  Truth  to  tell, 
the  young  wife  was  very  tired.  In  some  of  her 
conclusions  Aunt  Hannah  was  correct.  The 
small  lady  in  brown  knew  not  much  more  about 
ordering  her  house  than  did  the  butterflies.  Not 
that  she  had  imagined  this  state  of  things  herself 
when  she  took  upon  her  the  duties  of  a  housewife. 


1 6  MIXED    THINGS. 

In  her  secret  heart  she  believed  herself  to  be 
unusually  wise,  and  felt  that  she  was  about  to 
astonish  not  only  John,  but  all  the  parish,  with 
the  amount  of  skill  and  tact  that  she  should  dis- 
play in  the  ordering  of  her  affairs. 

For  nearly  two  weeks  she  and  John  had  been 
alone,  and  there  had  certainly  been  some  aston- 
ishment, but  it  was  almost  entirely  on  the  part  of 
the  young  wife.  She  had  made  a  discovery ;  to 
keep  house  with  a  mother  whose  room-door  could 
be  softly  opened  at  any  moment  and  the  import- 
ant question  propounded,  "  How  long  ought  that 
juice  to  boil  ?  "  or,  "How  much  sugar  does  it  take 
for  such  a  pudding  ?"  was  one  thing,  and  to  keep 
house  with  a  mother  three  hundred  miles  away, 
and  the  next-door  neighbor  a  prim,  wiry-looking 
woman,  with  thin  lips  that  shut  over  each  other 
in  a  very  suggestive  manner  —  lips  that  had 
already  been  overheard  to  say  that  "it  seemed  a 
pity  for  a  minister  to  pick  out  a  baby  for  a  wife" 
—  and  eyes  that  seemed  always  to  be  looking 
through  her  pantry  window  into  the  parsonage 
kitchen  —  this  was  quite  another  thing. 

These  were  some  of  the  thoughts  now  passing 
through  the  restless  brain  of  Mrs.  John,  and  had 
to  do  with  the  restless  tap  of  her  foot  on  the 
mossy  carpet.  She  was  just  tired  enough  to  have 
the  entire  subject  of  housekeeping  assume  for- 
midable proportions.  How  often  had  she  with  a 


MIXED    THINGS.  I/ 

complacent  air  listened  to  the  sweet,  low  voice  of 
her  mother,  as  she  told  some  friendly  caller  that 
her  "daughter  Mattie  "  superintended  the  cooking 
and  managed  all  the  affairs  of  the  house  as  nicely 
as  she  could  herself.  Both  mother  and  daughter 
believed  this  to  be  true.  But  now,  with  an  expe- 
rience born  in  the  last  two  weeks,  the  "  daughter 
Mattie"  knew  that  it  was  because  her  mother's 
room  was  on  the  same  floor  with  the  store-room 
and  pantry  that  life  in  the  old  home  moved  on  so 
smoothly,  for  the  mother,  who  was  unable  to  raise 
herself  unaided  from  her  pillow,  could  yet  think 
and  plan  and  suggest. 

It  was  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  two  trying 
days  of  the  week  through  which  Mrs.  Remington 
had  just  lived,  had  followed  a  Sabbath  which  had 
also  been  in  some  respects  a  trial.  To  begin 
with,  the  trouble  which  just  now  loomed  itself  up 
darkly  before  her,  like  a  mountain  over  which  she 
was  expected  to  climb,  and  felt  that  she  could  not, 
was  connected  with  bread. 

This  small  woman  in  brown  had  made  and 
baked  that  day  four  loaves  of  bread  which  were 
unmistakably  and  hopelessly  sour.  Is  there  a 
young  married  woman  in  the  land,  having  the 
ordering  of  her  own  house,  who  does  not  feel  an 
instant  throb  of  sympathy?  I  really  think  her 
astonishment  and  disappointment  added  to  the 
bitterness.  She  had  made  bread  before  often  in 


1 8  MIXED    THINGS. 

her  mother's  home ;  therefore  she  had  gone  about 
her  task  with  no  sinking  of  heart,  but  with  such 
an  air  of  superior  confidence  that  she  smiled  over 
the  thought  of  the  peering  eyes  from  the  kitchen 
of  her  neighbor,  and  felt  quite  willing  to  let  them 
peer.  After  that  bread  was  fairly  out  of  the 
oven,  she  had  closed  the  blinds  of  her  pantry  very 
tight,  and  drawn  down  the  shade,  with  a  vague 
fear  in  her  heart  that  the  perfume  from  those  acid 
loaves  would  steal  into  the  kitchen  across  the 
yard,  and  tell  their  tale  of  failure. 

What  was  the  trouble?  Oh,  "its  name  was 
legion."  In  the  first  place,  there  had  been  in  the 
old  home  a  deft-handed  maiden,  carefully  trained 
by  the  mother  before  the  sorrowful  accident  that 
made  her  a  prisoner  in  her  bed  ;  a  maiden  whose 
duty  it  was  to  see  that  the  fire  was  in  just  that 
state  of  clearness  and  steadiness  which  has  so 
much  to  do  with  perfection  from  the  oven.  This 
same  maiden  had  always  her  neat  row  of  tins, 
shining  with  cleanliness,  arranged  on  the  baking- 
table,  waiting  for  the  young  housekeeper's  well- 
rounded  loaves.  In  the  parsonage  kitchen  there 
was  just  one  pair  of  hands  ;  they  went  into  the 
very  depths  of  stickiness  before  the  bread-tins 
were  thought  of  at  all.  Even  when  their  owner 
did  think  of  them,  she  was  for  the  moment  only 
bewildered.  It  seemed  so  surprising  not  to  be 
able  to  say  — 


MIXED    THINGS.  IQ 

"Jennie,  the  tins  ;  right  away,  please." 

However,  she  had  gotten  her  hands  out  as  best 
she  could,  and  washed  them,  and  given  her  tins  an 
extra  rubbing,  and  started  afresh  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  door-bell  ring. 

There  was  no  "Jennie"  to  answer;  she  had 
neglected  to  tell  John  that  her  hands  would  be 
engaged,  and  he  would  be  likely  to  hold  to  the 
arrangement  she  had  herself  proposed ;  that  noth- 
ing but  an  absolute  necessity,  of  which  she  was  to 
judge,  should  call  him  from  his.  study  in  the 
morning  hours.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  the 
bread  must  be  left  once  more. 

It  was  the  wiry  woman  next  door,  who  wanted 
to  borrow  an  egg,  having  discovered,  in  the  midst 
of  her  baking,  that  she  lacked  just  one.  She  saw 
a  streak  of  flour  on  Mrs.  John's  cheek  and  a  dab 
of  dough  on  her  apron,  and  little  lumps  of  harden- 
ing dough  here  and  there  on  the  hurriedly-washed 
hands,  and  asked  if  it  was  baking-day  here,  too  ; 
then  remarked  that  her  bread  was  just  out  of  the 
oven.  The  flurried  minister's  wife,  alarmed  to 
find  that  she  felt  almost  as  though  it  would  be  a 
comfort  to  throw  the  egg  at  her  caller,  made  all 
the  haste  she  could  back  to  her  bread,  her  heart 
sinking  the  while.  How  late  it  must  be !  She 
had  forgotten  that  they  sat  so  long  over  the  let- 
ters this  morning,  and  that  she  had  taken  time  to 
read  mother's  once  more  when  quite  alone. 


2O  MIXED    THINGS. 

There  was  much  hurrying  in  the  parsonage 
kitchen  after  that.  Perhaps  all  would  have  gone 
well  had  not  Dr.  Crowther  called  to  have  a  few 
minutes'  talk  with  the  minister  on  important  bus- 
iness, and  Mattie,  ushering  him  into  the  little  par- 
lor, had  been  shocked  to  find  that  the  floor  was 
still  strewn  with  papers,  and  the  chairs  with 
books,  just  as  they  had  left  it  the  night  before. 
It  was  extraordinary  that  there  was  no  Jennie  to 
to  call  upon. 

She  had  summoned  John,  and  he  had  carried 
the  doctor  to  his  study,  and  not  before  he  gave  a 
hurried  glance  about  the  disorderly  room.  After 
that  Mattie  felt  that  she  should  have  waited  to 
brush  and  dust  and  arrange  that  room,  even 
though  they  had  no  dinner  at  all  ! 

I  need  not  follow  her  through  her  nervous  and 
constantly  interrupted  morning ;  but  if  you  had 
been  there,  you  would  not  have  been  in  the  least 
surprised  that  she  forgot  the  bread. 

When  at  last,  several  hours  later  in  the  day,  she 
ran  to  it  in  dismay,  you  are  prepared  to  hear  that 
it  had  silently,  and  with  "malice  aforethought," 
done  its  meanest  and  stickiest.  Oh,  the  oven,  the 
oven  !  The  bread  should  have  been  not  only  in 
it,  but  out  of  it,  by  this  time,  and  the  fire  had 
been  forgotten  entirely.  Mrs.  John  was  used  to 
steady,  well-behaved  coals,  and  Jennie  to  "shake" 
them  at  just  the  right  minute;  how  could  she  be 


MIXED    THINGS.  21 

expected  to  remember  this  snapping,  sputtering 
wood  that  flamed  up  so  suddenly  and  died  out  so 
soon?  She  did  her  best  with  fire  and  soda  and 
kneading-board,  but  the  bread  was  undeniably 
sour. 

She  groaned  in  spirit  over  what  her  mother 
would  have  thought  of  it,  or  what  Aunt  Hannah 
would  have  said  could  she  have  seen  her  dear 
John  bravely  swallowing  it  for  his  supper.  John, 
blessed  man,  made  no  comment  whatever,  until, 
in  answer  to  his  wife's  earnest  words,  he  was 
obliged  to  admit  that  it  was  a  little  tart. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  good  bread  if  it  wasn't  sour," 
said  the  poor,  self-accusing  spirit  opposite  him ; 
"it  isn't  good  yeast.  I  know  it  is  too  old,  or  the 
bread  would  not  have  been  so  long  rising  in  the 
first  place.  We  used  to  buy  our  yeast  at  the 
bakery.  I  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to  man- 
age ;  this  is  the  only  kind  I  can  get,  and  I  know 
I  shall  not  succeed  with  it.  It  is  not  a  bit  like 
ours." 

"We'll  have  to  make  some,"  said  John,  with  a 
deliciously  superior  air,  and  a  smiling  emphasis 
on  the  pronoun  "we."  "I  remember  stirring  a 
mess  for  Aunt  Hannah  that  she  called  hop  yeast, 
and  it  used  to  hop  around  in  a  lively  manner.  I 
don't  think  it  can  be  very  hard  work.  Aunt  Han- 
nah made  it  every  week  or  two,  I  think." 

But    his    city-bred    wife    knew    nothing    about 


22  MIXED    THINGS. 

home-made  yeast,  and  had  a  suspicion  that  neither 
did  John,  and  the  bread  was  sour,  and  the  world 
looked  dreary  to  her. 

All  the  drearier,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  because  of 
the  fact  that  the  later  hours  of  the  afternoon  had 
been  spent  at  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  in 
that  region,  a  "female"  prayer-meeting. 

"Why  do  they  use  that  term  ?"  she  had  asked 
John,  and  laughed  as  she  asked  it.  "Wouldn't  it 
sound  queerly  to  say  a  'male'  prayer-meeting?" 

At  the  tea  table  she  had  tried  to  tell  John 
about  the  meeting,  and  had  not  felt  like  laughing. 

"It  wasn't  pleasant,  John;  it  was,  well,  dread- 
fully stiff ;  I  don't  know  any  other  word  that  will 
describe  it.  Almost  every  one  was  late,  yet  the 
meeting  did  not  begin ;  they  sat  around  solemnly 
and  looked  at  one  another.  At  last  some  one 
ventured  to  ask  Mrs.  Jones  to  lead.  She  said 
that  she  was  not  prepared,  and  that  she  didn't 
feel  competent  to  lead  a  meeting,  anyway.  Of 
course  that  made  all  the  others  feel  as  though 
they  ought  not  to  be  'competent,'  and  one  and 
another  refused.  Then  our  next  neighbor  said 
,she  thought  the  minister's  wife  was  the  proper 
person  to  lead ;  but  by  that  time  I  was  so  sort  of 
frightened  that  it  seemed  to  me  I  couldn't  lead 
anything,  and  I  said  I  did  not  feel  competent, 
either."  The  sentence  closed  with  a  shy  glance  at 
John,  whose  amused  face  had  grown  slightly  grave. 


MIXED    THINGS.  2$ 

"I  am  sorry  you  did  that,"  he  said,  gently;  "I 
would  have  been  glad  if  you  had  taken  the  vacant 
place  as  a  matter-of-course,  and  led  the  meeting 
as  simply  as  you  would  have  done  the  young  peo- 
ple's gathering  in  your  old  home." 

Mrs.  John  shook  her  head.  "I'm  sorry,  too, 
now,"  she  said,  humbly;  "and  I  knew  you  would 
be,  but  it  was  a  very  different  gathering  from  our 
young  people's,  I  assure  you.  Mrs.  Green  was 
finally  persuaded  to  lead;  she  is  the  last  person  I 
should  have  chosen.  She  selected  a  long  hymn 
and  read  the  whole  of  it.  Think  of  reading  a 
hymn,  John,  in  a  little  informal  prayer-meeting 
that  is  to  last  only  an  hour,  when  each  person 
present  had  a  book !  She  isn't  what  might  be 
called  a  good  reader,  either.  Then  they  had  a 
time  getting  some  one  to  start  the  tune.  They 
didn't  ask  me.  Mrs.  Jones  said  she  was  hoarse, 
and  Mrs.  Brown  did  not  know  any  tune  that  would 
go  with  the  words.  At  last  I  grew  ashamed  of 
myself,  and  started  a  tune  that  I  thought  every- 
body in  the  world  knew,  but  hardly  any  one  sang, 
and  that  frightened  me.  On  the  second  verse  it 
seems  I  changed  the  key.  I  don't  know  why,  I 
am  sure,  but  I  pitched  it  so  high  that  even  those 
cats  which  troubled  us  so  last  night  couldn't  have 
squealed  it.  Of  course  I  had  to  stop.  'It  is 
very  strange,'  I  said,  'I  have  often  sung  that 
tune.'  But  they  all  looked  as  solemn  as  though 


24  MIXED    THINGS. 

they  were  at  a  funeral.  The  ludicrous  side  of  it 
came  to  me  next,  and  I  laughed.  You  needn't 
think  they  did,  though.  Tombstones  couldn't 
have  been  more  solemn.  In  short,  John,  the  new 
minister's  wife  disgraced  herself,  and  she  knows 
it  and  feels  badly  about  it,  though  she  doesn't 
understand  it  one  bit ;  she  meant  to  be  as  good  as 
possible." 

The  sentence  had  closed  with  a  queer  little 
sound  that  was  much  like  a  sob.  John,  wise- 
hearted  man,  had  laughed  pleasantly,  and  said  that 
she  mustn't  mind  these  little  things;  that  the 
people  meant  all  right,  he  was  sure ;  that  in 
regard  to  many  things  she  had  been  brought  up 
differently  from  them,  and  that  they  must  take 
time  to  get  accustomed  to  people's  peculiarities. 
Then  he  had  told  her  about  the  rose-bushes  he 
was  going  to  set  out  under  her  window  as  soon  as 
the  spring  opened,  and  had  been  as  cheery  as  a 
man  could  well  be  who  was  eating  sour  bread  and 
stewed  prunes  which  had  been  slightly  scorched. 

After  supper  he  had  agreed  to  dry  the  dishes, 
and  they  were  being  very  merry,  when  a  knock 
interrupted,  and  the  minister  returned  from 
answering  it  with  the  grave  look  returned  to  his 
face.  He  must  go  at  once.  That  woman  about 
whom  he  had  told  her  on  Sabbath  was  worse,  was 
going  to  die,  and  she  had  not  planned  for  death. 
"Deacon  True  says  she  is  in  mortal  terror,"  said 


MIXED    THINGS.  25 

John,  as  he  kissed  the  little  dishwasher  whose 
face  was  also  now  as  grave  as  his  own,  and  went 
away  in  haste. 

This  was  why  she  was  alone  in  the  pretty 
study,  waiting.  Going  over,  as  she  waited,  the 
events  of  the  day,  of  the  two  days,  and  their  petti- 
ness and  solemnities,  sour  bread,  and  prayer-meet- 
ings, and  dish-washing,  and  death-beds,  life  looked 
strangely  mixed  to  this  young  beginner  at  woman- 
hood. It  seemed  to  her  just  then  that  the 
spring  would  never  come,  and  no  more  rose* 
would  ever  bloom. 

In  her  heart  was  a  longing  to  write  a  long 
letter  to  "  mother,"  to  tell  her  everything,  and 
claim  from  her  the  fullness  of  sympathetic  love 
which  had  been  her  portion  all  her  life.  To  this 
end,  she  turned  presently  to  the  study  table,  and 
drew  toward  her  pen  and  paper,  and  began  the 
familiar  "Dear  mamma."  Then  came  a  vision 
of  the  sweet,  pale  face  and  love-lighted  eyes, 
bending  eagerly  over  the  sheet  to  read  the  pre- 
cious words.  Only  sunshine  should  appear  on 
those  pages  for  her  mother's  eyes  to  read.  No 
perplexities  of  the  kitchen,  however  merrily  told, 
should  intrude.  Her  mother  would  be  sure  to 
"read  between  the  lines,"  and  grieve  because  she 
could  not  shield  her  darling  from  all  roughnesses 
of  the  way. 

"  She  shall  hear  about  the  roses  that  are  to  be, 


26  MIXED    THINGS. 

and  the  sunshine  that  now  is,"  resolved  Mrs.  John, 
bravely.  "As  for  Mrs.  Pryn  and  her  pantry  win- 
dow, and  Mrs.  Green  and  all  the  others,  mamma 
shall  have  none  of  them.  But  I  do  wish  I  knew 
how  to  make  soft  yeast.  I  have  it !  I'll  write  to 
Aunt  Hannah.  John  will  like  that,  and  I'll  tell 
her  the  whole  story,  because  she  is  not  my 
mother." 

The  first  sheet  was  pushed  aside,  and  another 
commenced  —  "Dear  Aunt  Hannah." 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 


CHAPTER    III. 


BY   MRS.   C.   M.   LIVINGSTON. 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

MAPLEWOOD,  Feb.   18,   18 — . 
MY  DEAR  MARTHA: 

I  was  highly  pleased  to  receive  a  letter  from 
you.  I  must  say  it  was  more  than  I  expected. 
Young  folks  nowadays  are  not  fond  of  the  society 
of  their  elders.  That  you  can  sit  down  and  write 
a  long  letter  to  your  old  aunt  shows,  at  least,  that 
you  had  good  training.  Your  mother  must  have 
brought  you  up  to  have  a  little  respect  for  old 
people,  and  there  is  none  too  much  of  that,  as  far 
as  my  observation  goes.  I  do  not  often  speak  of 
this ;  but  I  have  had  my  feelings  hurt  more  by 
young  people  since  I  begun  to  feel  that  I  was  an 
old  woman  than  in  any  other  way.  I  have  been 
in  families  where  young  ladies  would  flirt  in  and 
out,  not  noticing  me  any  more  than  if  I  had  been 
a  cat.  If  they  had  to  sit  down  a  few  minutes, 


28      GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

they  would  act  as  though  they  supposed  I  was  so 
old  I  had  forgotten  the  English  language,  or 
hadn't  any  thoughts.  I  know  it  is  foolish  to  be 
worried  about  it,  but  I  like  young  folks,  and  I 
want  my  heart  to  stay  young  just  as  long  as  I 
live.  When  I  get  to  be  a  mummy  or  an  oyster,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  leave  this  world. 

That  makes  me  think  of  the  sick  woman  you 
wrote  about.  Poor  soul,  I  have  tried  to  pray  for 
her,  but  I  fear  it  wasn't  with  much  faith.  When 
a  body  has  scorned  the  Lord's  offer  of  mercy  all 
her  life,  it  seems  almost  too  much  to  expect  that 
he  will  receive  just  the  dregs,  as  it  were.  We 
know  he  did  receive  one;  and  if  it  weren't  for 
that  dying  thief,  it  would  be  hard  to  have  a  bit  of 
faith  about  it.  Yet  when  it  comes  to  that,  none 
of  us  gets  a  pass  through  the  gate  of  the  city 
because  of  our  good  lives. 

Sometimes  when  I  get  to  thinking  about  that 
thief,  the  love  and  pity  of  the  Lord  seem  so 
wonderful  that  I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  right  out 
and  tell  every  poor  sinner  about  it. 

You  wish  I  would  come  and  spend  a  year,  do 
you  ?  Now,  child,  you  think  you  do,  I  dare  say. 
But  that  would  be  like  a  good  many  things  that 
we  think  would  make  us  happy;  when  we  come 
to  try  them  we  see  our  mistake.  No,  no;  it  is 
best  for  young  ones  after  they  once  fly  from  the 
home  nest  to  set  up  independent  of  the  old  birds. 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      2Q 

I  tried  once  to  help  two  young  robins.  They 
were  building  a  nest  in  the  old  apple-tree  right 
under  my  bedroom  window,  and  they  weren't 
making  it  a  bit  comfortable  according  to  my  way 
of  thinking.  I  watched  them  until  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  Then  I  hung  little  bunches 
of  ravelings  on  the  limbs  in  plain  sight.  The 
stubborn  little  things  wouldn't  notice  them,  but 
kept  on  weaving  in  bits  of  straw  and  hay;  as  if, 
of  course,  they  knew  best. 

One  day  they  were  both  gone.  I  took  a  soft 
bit  of  wool  and  tucked  it  nicely  into  the  nest.  I 
thought  when  they  once  knew  how  warm  it  felt  to 
the  feet  they  would  like  it.  But  when  that  little 
housekeeper  got  back  she  was  mad  enough  !  She 
made  angry  sort  of  chirps  that  sounded  for  all  the 
world  like  scolding,  and  he  helped  her  along  in 
it,  like  any  foolish  young  husband.  They  flew 
around  as  if  they  were  crazy,  and  tore  that  nest  to 
pieces  in  no  time.  That  taught  me  a  lesson.  I 
shall  never  meddle  with  any  more  nests. 

I  should  like  to  help  you  about  the  bread  and 
things.  But,  after  all,  experience  is  the  best 
teacher.  You  won't  let  your  bread  run  over 
many  times  after  one  such  scrape.  Of  course, 
you  may  have  the  best  flour  and  yeast  in  the 
world,  and  you  may  knead  it  for  hours,  as  some 
do  —  there  isn't  a  bit  of  use  in  it,  either  —  and 
if  you  neglect  it  just  a  little  too  long  before  you 


30      GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

bake  it,  you  will  have  sour,  miserable  stuff,  full 
of  big  holes.  It  is  in  making  bread  as  it  is  in 
everything  else  that  goes  to  ruin ;  neglect  gener- 
ally makes  the  trouble.  When  I  went  down 
East  last  summer,  visiting,  I  left  the  prettiest 
garden  you  ever  saw,  and  when  I  got  back  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  Canada  thistles  and 
burdocks  as  high  as  the  fence.  And  I  have  many 
a  time  in  my  life  got  away  down  and  away  back ; 
my  heart  as  full  of  weeds  as  my  garden.  What 
was  the  matter?  Why,  I  let  alone  the  precious 
word  he  gave  us  to  feed  upon  and  neglected  the 
spot  where  I  used  to  meet  the  Lord  and  speak  to 
him  and  he  to  me.  My  experience  is,  that  noth- 
ing thrives  where  the  lazy  jade,  neglect,  gets  a 
foothold. 

But  to  come  back  to  bread ;  no  good  bread 
can  be  made  without  first-rate,  lively,  hop  yeast. 
And  I'm  real  glad  you  want  to  know  how  to  make 
it,  and  don't  depend  on  that  abominable  stuff 
they  call  "salt  risings"  and  "milk  emp/*&f"/  I 
think  my  receipt  for  hop  yeast  the  best  there  is. 
I  take  a  handful  of  hops  and  steep  them  in  about 
a  quart  of  water.  Then  I  pare  four  middling- 
sized  potatoes  and  grate  them  and  strain  the  boil- 
ing hop  water  on  them,  stirring  as  I  pour.  Set  it 
on  the  stove  a  few  minutes  and  stir  it  until  it 
thickens  up.  Put  in  a  teaspoonful  of  salt  and  set 
it  away  to  cool.  When  it  is  cool  enough  —  milk 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      31 

warm  —  stir  in  a  small  teacup  full  of  yeast,  that 
must  be  saved  out  each  time  for  the  purpose. 
Likely  you  can  get  a  little  of  your  neighbor  for 
the  first.  Cover  it  and  set  it  in  a  warm  room  to 
rise ;  every  little  while  giving  it  a  good  stirring 
and  leaving  it  standing  in  the  pantry  a  couple  of 
days.  The  oftener  you  stir  it  the  whiter  it  will 
be.  Then  put  it  in  a  stone  jar,  cover  it  tight  and 
put  it  in  a  cool  place.  It  keeps  a  good  deal 
longer  than  yeast  that  has  flour  and  sugar  in  it. 
It  will  be  quite  thick  when  it  is  done,  if  it  is 
right.  That  quantity  is  enough  for  a  small 
family. 

I  am  glad,  too,  that  you  know  when  bread  is 
sour.  Not  half  the  people  do.  Some  pride  them- 
selves on  their  handsome  white  bread ;  and  very 
likely  it  will  be  so  sour  that  it  won't  be  fit  to  put 
in  any  human  stomach.  But  they  never  know 
it.  Even  the  bread  that  just  escapes  being  sour 
has  been  made  to  rise  so  many  times  that  it  has 
lost  all  its  goodness  and  tastes  like  sawdust.  It 
is  white,  and  that's  all  that  can  be  said  about  it. 
Basswood  chips  are  white,  too,  but  who  wants  to 
eat  basswood  ?  You  can  count  the  folks  on  your 
fingers  who  know  how  to  make  a  light,  sweet  loaf 
of  hop-yeast  bread  —  the  kind  that  tastes  like  a 
good,  sweet  nut.  I  do  hope  John  will  have  such 
to  eat ;  for  a  man  who  works  with  his  brains 
ought  to  be  well  nourished. 


32      GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

Your  prayer-meetings  must  be  a  good  deal 
as  ours  in  Maplewood  were.  We  used  to  get 
together,  half  a  dozen  of  us,  and  pray  over  our 
old  prayers  every  Thursday  afternoon  in  a  dismal 
kind  of  way  as  if  we  didn't  half  believe  in  what 
we  were  praying  about,  nor  care  whether  we  got 
it  or  not.  If  the  truth  were  told,  I  suppose  we 
were  all  glad  when  the  meeting  was  out.  I  think 
those  were  the  sort  of  prayers  that  wouldn't  reach 
up,  though  they  were  long  enough  for  the  matter 
of  that. 

Some  people  might  think,  by  the  way  you 
spoke,  that  you  were  opposed  to  praying  for 
reforms  and  missions.  But  I  am  net  going  to 
think  that  I  know  what  you  mean  —  better  not 
pray  for  what  you  don't  heartily  want. 

I  went  to  a  good  meeting  when  I  was  East  —  a 
woman's  meeting.  (You're  right  about  that ;  I 
never  did  like  being  called  a  "female,"  instead  of 
a  "woman.")  That  was  the  best  one  I  ever 
attended.  It  was  in  a  large,  pleasant  room,  and 
an  old  lady  led  it.  She  sat  up  there,  looking  as 
dignified  as  Martha  Washington,  with  a  bright, 
happy  look,  as  if  she  expected  a  real  good  time. 
When  the  ladies  came  in  she  would  introduce 
those  who  were  not  acquainted,  saying  — 

"I  think  we  all  ought  to  know  each  other  —  we 
that  love  the  Lord." 

The   chairs  were  placed  so   that   we    were    all 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      33 

seated  in  a  circle  around  the  leader  —  about 
twenty  of  us  in  all. 

"Let's  sing  'Rock  of  Ages,'"  she  said.  "We 
won't  wait  to  read  it ;  an  hour  is  so  short." 

Now,  it  was  new  to  me  that  an  hour  was  a 
short  time  for  a  meeting,  I  know  we  always  had 
hard  enough  work  to  fill  it  up  in  our  meetings. 

The  singing  was  good  and  lively,  because  some 
one  started  it  off  in  a  firm,  strong  voice,  as  if  she 
wasn't  afraid.  That  gave  others  courage.  Then 
the  leader  prayed  just  for  this  —  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  would  help  every  one  who  spoke  or  prayed ; 
and  that  Jesus  himself  would  be  there. 

Then  each  one  repeated  a  verse  or  two  that 
told  something  about  the  Lord's  mercies  and  lov- 
ing-kindness. There  wasn't  any  waiting.  After 
they  had  sung  another  verse,  the  leader  said  — 

"Now,  we  won't  waste  any  time  waiting  for 
each  other.  Let  us  each  one  speak  a  word  of 
some  particular  thing,  if  we  can,  wherein  the 
Lord  has  been  merciful  to  us  this  last  week." 

The  woman  next  to  her  seemed  in  a  hurry  to 
tell  what  she  had  to  say.  She  was  one  of  those 
handsome,  tasty  women,  too  —  looked  as  if  she 
likely  had  all  she  wanted  of  this  world's  goods. 
But  her  words  showed  that  her  treasure  wasn't  on 
the  earth.  She  said  her  heart  was  so  full  of  joy 
she  did  not  know  how  to  tell  it.  Her  only  son, 
who  was  in  Philadelphia,  studying  medicine,  had 


34     GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

been  but  a  half  and  half  Christian  for  years. 
"Yesterday,"  she  said,  "I  got  a  letter  from  him. 
He  says  he  has  given  all  of  himself  to  the  Lord 
now,  and  he  has  peace  like  a  river.  Oh,  I  can 
not  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  the  Lord  has 
answered  my  prayer." 

Then  some  one  asked  about  consecration  —  if  it 
was  everybody's  duty ;  another  quoted  a  text, 
proving  that  it  was.  Then  another  pulled  a  little 
book  out  of  her  pocket,  and  read  what  that 
wonderful  man,  Mr.  Finney,  thought  about  it. 
Another  said  a  word,  and  another ;  and,  before 
they  knew  it,  they  were  all  talking  away  as  socia- 
bly as  if  they'd  been  at  a  quilting  or  sewing 
society. 

When  there  was  a  little  pause,  that  woman, 
who  could  sing  like  a  robin,  struck  up  — 

"  Now  I  resolve,  with  all  my  heart, 
With  all  my  powers,  to  serve  the  Lord." 

After  the  singing,  a  woman  in  a  coarse  blanket 
shawl  and  an  old  faded  bonnet  spoke,  and  these 
are  the  very  words  she  said  — 

"Some  of  you  have  heard  how  I  lost  all  my 
money.  I've  been  years  and  years  digging  and 
scraping  by  the  hardest  work  to  earn  it,  for  I 
made  it  all  by  washing.  I  put  it  in  the  bank, 
that  I  thought  was  as  safe  and  strong  as  the  hills. 
And  now  it  is  gone — all  gone!  But  it's  not 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      35 

about  that  I'll  be  talking.  I've  been  to  Cedar 
Creek  to  stay  a  week  with  my  daughter.  She 
and  her  husband  have  been  converted.  Now, 
isn't  that  better  than  gold  ?  The  Lord  has  taken 
that,  but  he  has  given  me  what  is  better.  I  never 
spent  such  a  happy  week  in  my  life.  Besides,  he 
took  out  of  my  heart  the  dreadful  hate  I  felt  at 
first  for  the  man  who  cheated  me  out  of  my  hard 
earnings.  I  can  pray  for  him.  I'm  going  to 
work  again  with  my  soul  full  of  joy,  and  I  shall 
sing  as  I  work.  He  will  keep  me.  I  have  his 
promise.  Isn't  that  better  than  a  bank-note  ? " 

Then  a  young  girl  told  how  she  had  been  a 
member  of  the  church  four  years,  but  she  hadn't 
been  a  happy  Christian.  She  had  tried  to  belong 
to  Christ,  and  follow  fashion  and  gaiety.  "But  I 
can't,"  she  said;  "the  two  won't  go  together." 
She  said  she  was  miserable;  got  so  she  didn't 
enjoy  the  world  or  religion,  either.  Sometimes 
she'd  think  she'd  give  it  all  up,  but  she  was  afraid 
to  do  that.  Then  she  gave  up  her  gay  life,  and 
determined  to  be  very  good.  She  read  good 
books,  and  went  to  all  the  meetings,  and  gave  to 
the  poor,  but  that  didn't  help  her.  "One  day," 
said  she,  "Jesus  showed  it  all  to  me  —  that  the 
doing  or  not  doing  wasn't  going  to  be  of  any  use 
till  I  rested  with  all  my  heart  on  him  ;  and  now 
I  am  happy  since  I  learned  to  trust." 

Then  a  woman  said  —  "I  want   to  thank    him 


36     GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

before  you  all  to-day  for  a  great  thing  he  has  done 
for  me.  I  told  him  I  would.  I  don't  suppose  any 
of  you  know  that  I  have  a  violent  temper,  for 
I  usually  control  it  before  strangers.  I  fell  into  a 
grievous  habit  of  scolding.  I  scolded  the  servants 
and  my  children,  and  even  my  husband.  Every- 
body dreaded  my  tongue.  I  was  sorry  for  it  when 
I  got  over  my  vexation.  Often  I  promised  my 
Saviour  I  would  not  do  it  any  more  ;  but  before 
I  knew  it  something  would  go  wrong,  and  I  would 
scold  again.  One  day,  when  I  was  in  despair,  I 
got  to  thinking  if  the  Lord  could  do  such  a  won- 
derful thing  as  change  the  heart  in  the  first  place, 
he  could  also  break  the  chains  of  a  sinful  habit, 
I  went  and  told  him  that  he  knew  I  had  tried, 
again  and  again,  to  conquer  it,  but  I  could  not. 
Then  the  Lord  put  it  into  my  heart  to  call  quickly 
to  him  when  I  felt  my  anger  rising.  I  have  done 
it  now  for  many  weeks,  and  have  been  wonder- 
fully kept  from  my  besetting  sin.  Don't  think  I 
am  boasting.  I  do  not  do  it ;  I  could  not.  I 
deserve  no  more  credit  for  it  than  you  do  because 
the  sunshine  streams  into  these  windows  and 
makes  the  room  bright  and  pleasant." 

There  was  one  woman  who  had  not  said  a 
word.  She  had  a  pale  face,  and  wore  an  old, 
thin  shawl. 

"I  haven't  anything  joyful  to  tell,"  she  said. 
"My  husband  is  good  and  kind,  if  he  would  let 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      3/ 

drink  alone.  He  does  try  to,  but  he  is  terribly 
tempted.  We  have  four  children,  and  nothing  to 
live  on.  If  the  Lord  doesn't  have  mercy  on  us,  I 
don't  know  what  we'll  do.  I  came  to  this  meet- 
ing to  ask  you  to  pray  for  my  husband." 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  the  leader. 

We  all  knelt,  and  those  women  one  after  an- 
other, poured  out  their  hearts  before  the  Lord. 
They  rejoiced  with  the  joyful  ones,  and  cried  with 
the  sorrowful  drunkard's  wife.  How  they  did 
pray  for  that  tempted  man !  How  earnest  they 
seemed,  pleading  to  be  entirely  consecrated.  It 
was  just  beautiful  when  we  arose  from  our  knees, 
to  see  them  all,  rich  and  poor,  gather  around  the 
drunkard's  wife  and  speak  kindly  to  her,  and 
promise  to  help  her.  Such  prayers  mean  some- 
thing, to  my  mind. 

I  went  out  of  that  meeting  feeling  as  if  I  had 
had  a  taste  of  heaven ;  rebuked,  too,  for  I  had 
thought,  of  course,  that  all  the  good  people  lived  at 
Maplewood,  and  that  city  people  were  on  the  high 
road  to  destruction.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  our 
prayer- meetings  at  home  should  be  different  if  I 
could  bring  it  about.  Why  shouldn't  we  bring 
our  every-day  joys  and  troubles  to  our  meetings, 
and  talk  and  pray  over  them  ?  Why  shouldn't  we 
pray  for  Tom  Jackson  and  Joe  Miller,  who  were 
going  to  ruin  with  drink,  instead  of  praying  in  a 
general,  roundabout  way,  that  "the  flood  of  intern- 


38      GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

perance  that  is  sweeping  over  the  land  may  be 
arrested  "  ?  Our  meetings  are  better. 

Tell  John  Aunt  Jane  writes  that  the  only 
trouble  with  their  work  in  India  now  is  the  lack 
of  money  to  carry  it  on.  The  way  is  open  before 
them  on  all  sides.  There  are  even  missionaries 
waiting  to  be  sent,  but  the  "Board"  is  cramped, 
and  can't  send  them.  I  think  just  as  you  and 
John  do  about  the  word  "sacrifice."  I  don't 
believe  that  even  after  we  have  done  our  best  our 
Father  likes  to  hear  it  from  us,  any  more  than 
parents  would  be  pleased  to  hear  their  children 
ranking  themselves  among  the  martyrs  because 
they  had  been  obedient.  I  shouldn't  a  bit  won- 
der it,  when  our  eyes  get  a  glimpse  of  the  glory 
prepared  for  us,  we  shall  be  so  ashamed  of  our 
"sacrifices"  that  we  will  beg  to  be  allowed 
to  go  back  to  earth  and  lay  down  our  lives  for 
him. 

Tell  John,  too,  that  I'm  getting  to  be  a  sort  of 
missionary  myself  in  my  old  age,  amongst  the  fac- 
tory hands.  It  is  queer,  the  way  it  came  about. 
I'll  tell  him  some  time.  But  I  begin  to  see  why 
Sister  Jane  is  so  happy  in  her  work;  the  wages 
are  good. 

You  say  John  thinks  there  are  very  few  women 
like  me,  and  I  should  hope  it  was  so.  I  am  glad 
the  boy  loves  me,  but  One  who  is  best  acquainted 
with  me  knows  that  I  don't  deserve  any  praise. 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      39 

I  am  saving  a  little  jar  of  October  butter  for 
you,  as  sweet  as  the  day  it  was  made,  and  some 
nice  honey.  You  and  John  must  come  over  and 
see  me  before  long.  That  you  may  be  a  blessing, 
to  each  other  is  my  daily  prayer. 
Your  affectionate 

AUNT  HANNAH. 

The  way  it  came  about  that  Aunt  Hannah  had 
a  mission  was  this ;  during  the  last  years  a  fac- 
tory had  established  itself  two  miles  from  Maple- 
wood.  The  usual  community  had  sprung  up 
about  it,  but  as  yet  there  was  no  church  nearer 
than  the  village.  In  consequence,  the  children  of 
the  little  hamlet  were  growing  up  to  regard  the 
Sabbath  as  a  mere  play-day. 

Mr.  Brewster  went  over  occasionally  to  preach, 
but  both  he  and  Mrs.  Adams  had  been  in  trouble 
of  mind  for  some  time  about  these  heathen  at 
their  doors.  The  subject  had  been  brought  to 
the  notice  of  the  church,  and  an  effort  made  to 
establish  a  Sabbath  School.  Nobody,  however, 
was  willing  to  undertake  the  work,  so  nothing 
more  than  talk  had  yet  been  accomplished. 

One  night  Mrs.  Adams  was  wakeful.  Sleep 
was  impossible ;  the  children  of  Factoryville  were 
on  her  heart.  Something  must  be  done  for  them 
at  once.  She  went  over  all  the  puzzle.  It  was 
a  shame  to  let  things  go  on  as  they  were.  But 


4O     GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

suppose  she  got  up  a  school  herself,  where  could  a 
superintendent  be  found  ? 

"  I  can't  find  anybody,  and  I  can't  chop  one  out 
of  wood,"  she  declared  almost  fretfully,  as  she 
turned  her  pillow  over. 

At  last  her  decision  must  have  been  reached, 
for  she  fell  asleep  in  a  peaceful  state  of  mind,  and 
the  next  afternoon,  immediately  after  dinner,  pre- 
pared to  act  upon  her  resolutions.  She  had  spent 
the  morning  in  the  pantry  making  a  quantity  of 
delicious  little  seed-cakes.  By  two  o'clock  Dolly 
and  the  old  carriage  were  at  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Adams  and  a  bag  of  cakes  set  out  to  found  a 
mission. 

"I  shall  do  my  part,"  she  had  resolved,  "even 
if  I  don't  see  the  way  clear  to  the  end.  After 
I've  done  what  I  can,  the  Lord  will  do  what  I 
I  can  not." 

She  first  called  upon  the  trustees  of  the  school- 
house,  and  secured  the  privilege  of  meeting  there 
for  an  hour  each  week.  Then  she  visited  the 
mothers.  Her  common  sense,  her  tact  and  her 
warm  heart  fitted  her  for  such  work,  as  no  train- 
ing in  a  Bible  school  could,  if  she  had  been  lack- 
ing in  these.  Every  woman  in  Factoryville, 
before  that  afternoon  was  over,  felt  that  Mrs. 
Adams  was  her  personal  friend,  and  all  promised 
that  their  children  should  be  at  the  school-house 
at  the  appointed  hour. 


GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS.      4! 

The  next  step  this  wise  general  took  was  to 
happen  along  just  as  school  was  dismissed.  She 
drew  up  to  the  roadside  and  let  Dplly  nibble 
grass,  while  she  got  acquainted  with  the  children. 
It  was  not  difficult  Young  people  of  all  ages 
had  an  affinity  for  Aunt  Hannah.  She  asked 
them  to  get  her  some  of  the  scarlet  maple  leaves 
on  a  tree  in  the  pasture,  and  forthwith  every  boy 
and  girl  scampered  to  do  her  bidding,  bringing 
treasures  of  glowing  leaves,  whereupon  they  were 
liberally  rewarded  with  seed-cakes.  Then  Mrs. 
Adams  took  into  her  buggy  some  of  the  younger 
ones  and  brought  them  on  their  way,  and  the  tri- 
umph was  complete.  The  next  thing  was  to  find 
some  one  who  was  willing  to  take  charge  of  the 
school,  but  all  pleaded  inability  of  some  sort. 
Saturday  night  came  and  nobody  was  provided. 

"Go  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Brewster;  "nobody  is 
fitter." 

And  Mrs.  Adams  went,  after  again  spending  a 
sleepless  night,  and  protesting  that  she  was  get- 
ting old,  and  was  "slow  of  speech."  The  One 
who  silenced  that  other  objector,  promising,  "I 
will  teach  thee  what  thou  shalt  say,"  overcame 
her  reluctance  also.  She  attempted  nothing  that 
first  Sunday  but  teaching  the  children  a  passage 
of  Scripture  and  telling  them  a  Bible  story;  but 
in  her  graphic  way  of  telling  it  accomplished 
much,  gaining  their  undivided  attention,  and 


42     GOOD  BREAD  AND  GOOD  MEETINGS. 

awakening  thought  and  conscience.  After  that 
Mrs.  Adams  always  went  without  protest.  Two 
other  women,  like-minded  with  herself,  accom- 
panied her,  one  of  whom  could  sing. 

And  so  the  Factory ville  mission  was  estab- 
lished on  a  firm  basis.  One  of  its  chief  charms 
was  the  Bible  story  at  the  close  of  the  school. 
But  it  had  no  superintendent.  Aunt  Hannah 
would  not  allow  herself  to  be  called  by  that  name. 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  43 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"TOTAL    DEPRAVITY." 

AS  Rev.  John  Remington  arose  from  his  break- 
fast-table one  morning,  he  made  the  remark 
to  his  wife  that  they  certainly  must  try  to  get  out 
together  that  afternoon  and  begin  an  assault  upon 
their  calling-list ;  that  the  Pritchards,  especially, 
should  be  called  upon,  as  they  were  among  the 
first  at  the  parsonage,  and  were  inclined  to  be 
sensitive. 

Whereupon  Mrs.  John,  with  two  pink  spots 
glowing  on  her  cheeks,  partly  from  excitement 
and  partly  the  effect  of  having  broiled  the  steak 
under  difficulties,  declared  that  she  did  not  care  if 
the  Pritchards  were  not  called  upon  in  a  year. 
Then  had  John,  with  his  gravest  air  and  a  note  of 
something  very  like  reproach  in  his  voice,  said  — 

"Don't  let  us  begin  in  that  way,  Mattie  dear. 


44  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

Let  us  resolve  to  make  this  people  ours,  with  all 
their  imperfections.  I  presume  they  have  faults, 
even  as  we  have,  but  as  much  as  possible  let  us 
close  our  eyes  to  them,  as  we  do,  on  occasion,  to 
those  of  our  best  and  dearest,  and  resolve  to  like 
them,  in  spite  of  their  faults." 

He  had  come  around  the  little  table  to  kiss  her 
at  the  close  of  this  sentence,  and  had  stroked  the 
brown  head  with  a  tender  hand  for  a  moment ; 
and  Mattie  had  returned  the  kiss,  but  said  never 
a  word,  though  he  lingered  a  moment  for  it,  and, 
she  fancied,  looked  disappointed  as  he  closed  the 
door  of  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Mattie  could  not  help  it.  Just  then  she 
had  no  words  to  offer.  She  considered  that  she 
had  been  unselfish  and  Christian  to  an  unusual 
degree,  and  John  knew  nothing  about  it.  She 
felt  that  she  did  not  like  Mr.  Pritchard,  "in  spite 
of  his  faults,"  and  she  was  certainly  not  going  to 
pretend  that  she  did.  The  truth  was,  she  had 
come  into  too  recent  contact  with  him.  Certain 
words  of  his  had  spoiled  for  her  one  of  the  fairest 
Sundays  of  her  life.  She  recalled  the  scene  —  a 
plain,  large  church,  well  filled  with  people,  most 
of  them  plainly  dressed,  belonging  to  the  class 
known  as  well-to-do  farmers;  the  minister  —  her 
minister  —  preaching  to  them  from  the  words  — 
"Present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice" — strong, 
terse  sentences,  thrilling  from  his  very  soul; 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  45 

burning  a  way,  the  young  wife  thought,  into  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers.  She,  his  wife,  who  was 
certainly  disposed  to  listen  critically,  if  any  mor- 
tal could,  paid  him  the  high  compliment  of  forget- 
ting for  the  space  of  five  minutes  that  he  was  her 
husband,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  solemn  and 
self-searching  influences  which  the  sermon  set  in 
motion.  Following  the  "Amen"  of  the  benedic- 
tion so  closely  that  it  startled  her,  came  the  voice 
of  Mr.  Pritchard,  whose  family  pew  was  behind 
her  own. 

"A  very  pretty  sermon,  young  madam,"  he 
said,  holding  out  his  fat,  pudgiky  hand  for  her  to 
clasp,  "  a  very  pretty  sermon,  indeed ;  went  along 
as  smooth  as  grease.  But  it  shows  plain  enough 
that  that  husband  of  yours  is  young.  By  the 
time  his  hair  is  as  gray  as  mine,  he  will  know  that 
a  man  must  look  out  for  No.  I,  and  be  pretty 
sharp  about  it,  too.  Just  tell  him  so,  with  my 
compliments,  will  you?  He,  he,  he!" 

No  laugh  that  Mrs.  Remington  had  ever  heard 
had  seemed  so  disagreeable  as  the  one  which 
accompanied  this  jarring  sentence.  She  kept  her 
voice  low  and  quiet  by  a  strong  effort  of  will,  but 
her  answer  seemed  to  bewilder  Mr.  Pritchard. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,  that  the  Lord  Jesus  was 
mistaken  when  he  gave  us  those  directions 
through  his  servant  ? " 

"  How  !  "  said  Mr.  Pritchard. 


46  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

"Why,  my  husband  did  not  make  the  text,  you 
know.  It  is  the  Lord's  own  message.  I  ask  if, 
in  your  opinion,  the  Lord  was  mistaken  in  sup- 
posing it  to  be  of  practical  value?" 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "Well"  —  another  long 
pause — "I'll  tell  you  what  I  do  think,  madam; 
the  kind  of  doctrine  that  that  young  husband 
of  yours  preached  this  morning  will  do  first-rate 
for  ministers,  and  for  them  who  haven't  got  to 
earn  their  own  living.  When  folks  are  supported 
by  the  church,  you  know,  it  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  having  to  earn  your  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  your  brow,  and  save  a  good  slice  for  the 
minister  besides.  That  takes  hard  digging,  and 
lots  of  it.  He,  he,  he!" 

Mr.  Pritchard's  momentary  embarrassment  had 
passed.  He  considered  that  he  had  made  a  sharp 
answer,  and  was  entirely  himself  again.  He 
shook  himself  like  a  great  dog  as  he  laughed,  and 
waddled  out  of  the  seat  in  a  tremor  of  satisfac- 
tion, while  the  red  glow  on  Mrs.  Remington's  face 
was  rapidly  changing  into  almost  a  pallor.  What 
mockery  it  was  to  preach  such  solemn  and  uplift- 
ing truths  to  people  like  these ! 

It  required  her  utmost  effort  at  self-control  not 
to  tell  John  the  whole  story  as  soon  as  they  were 
at  home.  She  put  the  longing  to  do  so  sternly 
aside.  His  Sabbath  should  not  be  burdened  with 
such  things ;  she  would  wait  until  to-morrow, 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  47 

when  he  would  be  rested.  And  by  to-morrow, 
thinking  much  over  that  sermon,  she  had  reached 
the  heights  of  unselfishness,  and  resolved  not  to 
tell  him  at  all ;  it  could  do  no  possible  good ;  it 
might  depress  him.  She  would  bear  burdens  of 
that  sort  for  him ;  and  it  gave  her  a  little  glow 
of  satisfaction  to  feel  that  she  was  doing  so.  But 
it  was  certainly  hard,  having  silently  shouldered 
so  heavy  an  annoyance,  to  be  spoken  to  in  that 
almost  reproachful  tone,  as  though  it  was  a  spe- 
cial indication  of  depravity  in  her  to  shrink  from 
calling  on  the  Pritchards.  For  a  minute  and  a 
half  she  wished  she  had  told  him  the  whole  story. 

Then  she  made  another  heroic  resolve;  she 
would  put  the  whole  thing  aside  and  give  her 
entire  mind  to  the  making  of  hop  yeast.  This 
subject  reminded  her  of  Aunt  Hannah's  letter, 
and  a  bright  smile  flitted  over  her  face  as  she 
thought.  What  a  delightful  letter  it  had  been! 
John's  face  had  fairly  shone  with  pride  and  pleas- 
ure as  she  read  it  to  him. 

"Blessed  old  Auntie!"  he  had  said;  "I  use  the 
word  old  as  a  kind  of  endearment ;  Aunt  Hannah 
never  seems,  and  I  think  never  will  seem,  old  to 
me.  She  is  my  mother,  you  know;  the  only  one 
I  remember,  and  I  think  mothers  never  grow  old. 
How  indignant  it  makes  me  tq  think  of  her  being 
ignored  in  the  way  she  has  been.  I  should  not 
suppose  that  the  pertest  young  miss  would  be 


48  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

likely  to  bestow  such  treatment  on  Aunt  Han- 
nah. She  is  a  woman  who  ought  to  command 
respect  wherever  she  goes." 

Then  they  had  gone  off  into  one  of  their  inter- 
esting little  arguments,  which  almost  any  ques- 
tion started,  and  which  was  so  pleasant  to  these 
two.  Mattie  had  declared  that  she  thought  both 
John  and  Aunt  Hannah  were  too  hard  on  young 
people ;  that  quite  often  they  appeared  indif- 
ferent to  deaf  persons,  for  instance,  because  they 
were  timid,  and  the  situation  was  embarrassing. 
There  was  her  friend  Fanny  Mills,  who  would 
chatter  like  a  magpie  to  mamma,  but  had  never 
a  word  for  old  Aunt  Patty,  who  used  to  spend 
part  of  each  winter  with  them,  and  who  was  a 
very  interesting  old  lady,  but  extremely  deaf. 
One  day  she  asked  Fanny  why  it  was  that  she 
did  not  talk  to  Aunt  Patty  Houston,  and  she 
admitted  that  it  was  because  she  could  not  think 
of  anything  to  say  that  was  worth  shouting ;  that 
when  she  had  squealed  out  for  the  third  time  that 
it  was  a  pleasant  day,  or  something  equally  orig- 
inal, and  had  not  yet  been  heard,  she  was  so  mor- 
tified to  think  that  she  had  troubled  an  old  lady 
with  such  a  triviality,  that  it  kept  her  from  ven- 
turing again  for  a  long  while.  Then  John  had 
laughed,  but  insisted  that  Fanny's  self-conscious- 
ness was  at  fault  in  that  instance,  and  that  she 
ought  to  rise  above  such  mortifications,  and  Mat- 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  49 

tie  had  answered  him  brightly,  and,  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  their  own  tongues,  they  had  almost  for- 
gotten to  finish  the  letter. 

Over  the  theological  portion  of  the  letter  the 
minister  had  looked  grave. 

"Aunt  Hannah  has  some  peculiar  ideas,"  he 
said;  "they  will  not  bear  writing  out.  Her  prac- 
tice is  all  right,  but  when  she  comes  to  explana- 
tion, she  gets  into  fog." 

"Why,"  asked  Mattie,  with  an  air  half  timid, 
half  mischievous,  "do  you  think  that  woman 
ought  to  have  kept  on  scolding,  and  scolded  a 
little  less  each  week,  until  by  and  by  she  over- 
came the  habit  entirely,  when  she  had  become  old 
and  gray  and  the  children  were  too  old  to  be 
scolded  ? " 

He  gave  her  a  bright  look  in  recognition  of  her 
sarcasm,  but  answered  soberly  — 

"I  would  not  limit  the  grace  of  God,  and  the 
things  he  will  do  for  us  are  beyond  the  power  of 
our  comprehension,  though  we  try  our  best ;  but 
it  is  a  mischievous  way  some  people  have  of  talk- 
ing as  though  they  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
.on  this  spiritual  journey.  We  are  to  put  on 
Christ  in  order  to  overcome  the  world,  the  flesh 
and  the  devil,  and  the  better  we  come  to  know 
him,  the  more  entirely  do  we  clothe  ourselves 
in  his  garments ;  and  we  come  to  know  him  by 
daily  study  and  fellowship  with  him ;  so  that  it 


5<D  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

rests  with  you  and  me,  Mattie,  in  a  large  degree, 
as  to  how  nearly  we  shall  conform  to  his  image, 
and  it  is  both  our  duty  and  privilege  to  be  more 
like  him  to-day  than  we  were  yesterday." 

Over  this  the  wife  had  sighed  a  little,  and  had 
said  that  there  were  things  about  it  that  she 
did  not  understand;  but  didn't  he  think  that 
was  just  a  lovely  meeting  which  Aunt  Hannah 
described,  and  what  did  he  think  the  effect  would 
be  if  she  should  take  that  letter  to  their  next 
"female"  prayer-meeting  and  read  extracts  from 
it? 

Then  how  they  had  laughed  over  those  robins ! 
Only  Mattie,  with  a  sort  of  undertone  sigh,  had 
said  — 

"Silly  robins,  not  to  take  kindly  to  help  in 
their  housekeeping."  And  then — "Blessed  rob- 
ins, to  be  able  to  keep  house  without  the  aid  of 
hop  yeast,  or  any  kindred  trial;  just  a  matter  of 
strawberries,  and  cherries,  with  a  worm  now  and 
then,  by  way  of  relish." 

Whereupon  John,  in  his  wisdom,  had  remarked 
that  he  did  not  think  she  would  have  any  trouble 
about  the  hop  yeast ;  that  however  foggy  Aunt 
Hannah's  theology  might  sound  when  she  under- 
took to  write  it,  she  was  as  clear  as  sunlight  over 
hop  yeast. 

"I  could  make  it  myself  with  those  directions," 
added  this  learned  gentleman,  with  his  most 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  5! 

superior  air.  And  Martha  had  assured  him  that 
the  directions  were  very  clear,  and  that  she  did 
not  anticipate  any  trouble ;  she  thought  it  was  all 
clear,  so  far  as  Aunt  Hannah  was  concerned; 
that  for  her  part  she  believed  in  her  theology,  as 
well  as  in  her  yeast. 

Then  the  minister  had  smiled  on  her  indul- 
gently, and  had  remarked  that  he  was  late  again ; 
that  they  must  make  a  resolution  not  to  read  the 
morning  letters  until  afternoon ;  then  had  arisen 
just  as  he  made  that  remark  about  the  calling-list 
and  the  Pritchards. 

You  know  how  he  was  answered,  and  what 
reply  had  been  called  forth.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he 
left  his  wife  with  a  very  uncomfortable  assurance 
in  her  heart  that  whatever  her  theory  in  regard 
to  Aunt  Hannah's  theology  might  be,  she  was 
certainly  practicing  on  another  line,  and  that 
some  new  element  must  be  put  into  her  life 
before  she  should  be  able  to  like  Mr.  Pritchard. 

Her  heroic  resolve  to  attack  hop  yeast,  and  the 
result  thereof,  she  will  be  able  to  describe  better 
than  I ;  as,  for  a  purpose,  she  wrote  the  story  to 
Aunt  Hannah  on  the  following  evening.  Before 
I  copy  it,  let  me  remark  that  they  did  not  call 
on  the  Pritchards  that  evening,  as  the  minister 
planned.  I  omit,  for  want  of  space,  Mattie's  the- 
ological remarks,  and  begin  with  the  yeast. 

"  By  the  way,  whatever  other  doctrine  I  may  be 


52  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

in  doubt  about,  I  thoroughly  believe  in  total 
depravity,  and  I  also  believe  that  it  extends  its 
influence  to  the  inanimate  world ;  for  instance,  to 
hop  yeast.  You  know  what  minute  instructions 
you  gave  me  concerning  that  vile  article,  so  in  all 
boldness  I  essayed  to  make  some.  No  soldier 
ever  studied  his  orders  with  more  careful  eye  than 
I  bestowed  on  your  letter.  There  were  difficulties, 
however,  in  the  way  of  following  directions  liter- 
ally. I  couldn't  get  a  'handful  of  hops.'  I  had 
to  use  pressed  ones.  How  was  I  to  tell  how 
many  it  would  take  to  make  a  handful  ?  I  asked 
John,  and  he  said  the  entire  package  certainly 
didn't  look  like  a  generous  handful,  and  Aunt 
Hannah  was  always  generous  about  everything. 
So  I  determined  to  venture  on  that  quantity.  I 
grated  the  potatoes  just  as  you  said  (and  grated 
two  of  my  fingers  at  the  same  time,  but  I  kept 
the  ingredients  separate).  Finally,  I  set  the  vile- 
smelling  compound  away  to  cool,  and  opened 
every  door  and  window  to  get  rid  of  the  odor. 
The  truth  is,  those  creatures  —  the  hops  —  had 
boiled  over  so  many  times  that  John  called  out 
from  the  study  to  know  if  I  had  started  a 
brewery. 

"Aunt  Hannah,  I  have  read  your  directions  all 
over  carefully,  and  you  say  nothing  whatever 
about  the  size  of  the  jar  into  which  I  was  to  put 
that  awful  mixture.  How  was  I  to  know  that  it 


TOTAL    DEPRAVITY.  53 

would  go  and  rise  and  rise,  and  pour  slimily  over 
the  sides  of  the  dish,  and  lie  in  a  sticky,  ill-smell- 
ing puddle  on  the  closet  shelf,  and  drip  into  the 
platters  and  saucers  below,  and  deluge  a  pile  of 
freshly-washed  napkins,  and  be  horrid  generally  ? 

"  Does  hop  yeast  always  swell  so  dreadfully  ? 
I  don't  remember  that  mother  ever  had  any 
trouble.  Perhaps  those  hops  weren't  good.  Per- 
haps they  will  continue  to  swell,  and  fill  all  the 
house  with  hops.  If  they  should  take  a  fancy  to 
swell  in  the  loaves,  how  will  I  ever  get  the  crea- 
tures into  my  oven?  I  have  just  been  to  take  a 
peep  at  the  mess.  I  put  it  into  the  largest  jar  in 
the  house,  and  stirred  it  down  as  you  said,  but 
the  horrid  stuff  is  creeping  up  again.  I  have  set 
the  jar  in  the  dish-pan,  and  the  pan  in  the  middle 
of  the  pantry  floor,  but  I  almost  know  the  pantry 
will  be  full  of  hop  yeast  by  morning. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Hannah,  John  says  to  tell  you  he 
is  so  grateful  to  you  for  helping  to  carry  his  bur- 
dens to  God.  He  says  thank  you  especially  for 
remembering  that  poor  woman  of  whom  I  wrote. 
She  died  that  night,  and  he  does  not  know 
whether  she  understood  his  words  or  had  any 
little  gleam  of  hope  before  she  sank  into  uncon- 
sciousness or  not.  He  came  home  thoroughly 
exhausted ;  it  was  a  very  great  nervous  strain, 
you  know.  He  was  depressed,  too,  but  the  next 
morning  he  said,  'We  must  leave  it  all  with  the 


54  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

merciful  Lord ;  he  is  more  anxious  to  save  souls 
than  we  can  possibly  be.'  He  was  just  as  tender 
and  considerate  as  he  could  be  at  the  funeral  ser- 
vice. But  do  you  know  the  relatives  are  offended 
because  he  did  not  speak  more  directly  and  defin- 
itely about  her?  Mrs.  Green  reports  that  a  sis- 
ter-in-law said,  'One  would  suppose  your  new 
minister  did  not  believe  in  such  a  place  as 
heaven.'  When  I  told  John,  he  gave  one  of  his 
heaviest  sighs,  and  said,  '  Yes,  he  does ;  he 
believes  in  it  with  all  his  soul,  but  he  doesn't 
know  whether  one  who  slights  the  Lord's  mercy 
until  past  the  eleventh  hour,  and  then  seems  to 
feel  only  terror,  reaches  there.'  Then  I  was 
sorry  I  had  told  him  about  it. 

"  Yours  in  love  and  haste, 

"  MARTHA." 


PERTURBATIONS.  55 


CHAPTER  V. 


BY    MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


PERTURBATIONS. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Adams  prayed  that  morning  for 
special  grace  to  bear  special  temptations, 
she  may  have  had  in  mind  the  coming  of  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Hepsy  Stone,  who  was  at  that  moment 
trying  to  keep  an  upright  position  in  the  stage  as 
it  jolted  over  rough  country  roads. 

Mrs.  Adams  went  rapidly  down  the  walk  to 
welcome  her,  her  round,  ample  form  contrasting 
with  her  sister's,  which  was  lean  and  angular. 
Their  faces,  too,  were  very  unlike  —  Mrs.  Adams', 
strong,  smooth  and  placid,  while  the  other  face, 
though  but  a  little  older,  was  deeply  wrinkled. 
Some  of  the  lines,  it  is  true,  were  caused  by  pain 
and  sorrow,  or  rather  by  rebellion  at  pain  and  sor- 
row, and  there  were  also  traces  of  discontent  and 
ill-humor.  The  other  members  of  the  family 


56  PERTURBATIONS. 

often  wondered  why  it  was  that  Hannah  was 
patient  and  sweet-spirited,  while  Hepsy  was  so 
"cross-grained."  They  said  it  was  because  they 
had  different  dispositions,  but  that  could  not  alto- 
gether explain  the  difference  in  their  lives  and 
faces. 

It  must  be  confessed  it  was  no  small  trial  to 
Mrs.  Adams,  who  had  for  so  many  years  lived  her 
even,  methodical  life,  and  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  solitude,  and  enjoyed  her  quiet  hours 
of  reading,  to  admit  one  into  close  companionship 
so  utterly  different  from  herself,  sister  though 
she  was.  As  girls  they  had  never  been  conge- 
nial ;  one  was  sure  to  like  what  the  other  detested. 
Hepsy,  too,  was  fond  of  interfering  and  setting 
up  her  opinion  even  in  matters  that  did  not  per- 
tain to  her.  Mrs.  Adams  had  thought  it  all  over 
before  she  asked  her  sister  to  come.  She 
knew  she  was  preparing  for  herself  whole  seas  of 
difficulties  and  temptations,  but  that  was  the  way 
of  duty,  and  she  would  not  shrink. 

"We  shall  see,"  she  told  herself  resolutely,  "if 
the  grace  of  God  is  not  strong  enough  to  enable 
two  old  women  to  live  together  in  peace." 

So  she  spoke  only  gentle  words  when  Hepsy 
fretted  at  her  hard  lot,  and  she  listened  patiently 
to  long  eulogies  on  her  deceased  brother-in- 
law,  and  to  sad  complaints  about  the  loss  of  the 
old  home,  knowing  in  her  large-hearted  pity  that 


PERTURBATIONS.  57 

poor  human  nature  is  always  thus  inconsistent, 
holding  things  cheaply  until  they  are  gone,  Lhen 
putting  upon  them  sums  of  untold  value.  So 
Joab  Stone,  who  had  been,  to  outward  appearance, 
a  stupid,  dull  old  man,  was  now,  in  his  wife's 
eyes,  a  saint  and  a  hero  ;  while  the  forlorn  little 
house  in  a  straggling  village  had  turned  itself 
into  a  very  model  of  convenience  and  comfort, 
with  beautiful  surroundings.  Thus  it  is  that  old 
age  paints  the  past  with  the  same  roseate  hues 
with  which  youth  gilds  the  future. 

"  Hepsy,"  Mrs.  Adams  said  one  fine  morning, 
putting  her  head,  arrayed  in  a  deep  cape  bonnet, 
in  at  the  door,  "  come  out  awhile ;  it's  a  beautiful 
spring  morning.  It'll  do  you  all  sorts  of  good." 

Mrs.  Stone  sat  by  the  sitting-room  stove  with  a 
shawl  about  her  shoulders,  toasting  her  feet  on 
the  hearth. 

"The  idea  of  my  going  outdoors,"  she  said, 
"when  I'm  taking  medicine!  It's  as  much  as  I 
can  do  to  keep  warm  in  the  house,  with  the  wind 
sifting  into  all  the  windows.  You  ought  to  have 
'em  listed,  Hannah ;  I  expect  I  shall  catch  my 
death.  Do  shut  the  door,  won't  you  ? " 

"  You'd  catch  your  life  if  you'd  come  out,"  her 
sister  said,  stepping  in  and  dropping  into  a  chair 
by  the  door,  while  she  fanned  herself  with  her 
sunbonnet ;  "  I've  been  digging  around  and  got 
warmed  up,  and  you  would,  too,  if  you'd  come  out. 


58  PERTURBATIONS. 

You  can't  think  how  pretty  it  all  is.  The  front 
yard  got  green  last  night.  The  lilacs  are  budded, 
and  the  daffodils  and  crocuses  are  almost  out,  and 
you  ought  to  see  the  apple-trees  and  peach-trees 
all  pink  and  white.  The  creek  in  the  orchard  is 
rushing  and  tumbling  along,  and  the  colts  and 
lambs  are  frisking  about.  I'm  not  sure  but  I'd 
like  to  take  a  little  trot  myself,  if  my  joints  were 
not  so  stiff." 

"You  do  beat  all!"  said  Mrs.  Stone. 

"  Come,  Hepsy,  do  come  out ;  it'll  do  you  more 
good  than  medicine.  Won't  you?" 

"  Mebbe,"  Hepsy  said,  rocking  back  and  shut- 
ting her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Adams  was  soon  hard  at  work  again  with 
the  trowel,  loosening  the  earth  about  her  plants 
and  thinking  pleasant  thoughts,  as  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  do  when  alone. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  she  told  herself,  "to  have 
the  earth  made  over  new  every  Spring.  What 
can  He  do  more  when  He  makes  the  new  heaven 
and  the  new  earth  ?  How  condescending  the  Lord 
is  to  us !  It  looks  as  if  He  couldn't  do  enough  to 
strengthen  our  weak  faith.  He  must  go  and  put 
in  a  picture  here  and  there,  so  we  won't  fail  to 
understand  the  great,  grand  story." 

Just  then  she  saw  her  sister,  wrapped  in  shawls, 
and  a  capacious  hood  tied  over  her  ears,  coming 
slowly  down  the  garden  walk. 


PERTURBATIONS.  59 

"  It  won't  do  you  any  good  to  crawl  along  like 
an  old  caterpillar,  Hepsy,"  Mrs.  Adams  said, 
laughing;  "you  must  step  off  briskly  and  stir 
your  blood.  Isn't  this  air  sweet  ?  " 

"It's  cold,  I  know,"  her  sister  said,  shivering 
and  drawing  her  shawl  tighter  about  her  neck. 

"But  isn't  everything  beautiful  in  the  spring, 
and  doesn't  it  strengthen  your  faith  in  the  res- 
urrection ? "  Mrs.  Adams  said,  going  on  with  her 
thought. 

"  Resurrection !  "  Mrs.  Stone  gasped,  almost 
in  horror.  "  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  to 
that  ? " 

"Why,  don't  you  see?  When  the  green  grass 
springs  out  of  the  bare  earth,  and  little  tender 
leaves  come  out  on  the  dead-looking  vines,  and 
above  all,  when  the  ugly-looking  bulbs  I  planted 
stick  up  green  heads  through  the  ground,  and 
then  come  out  in  white  and  yellow  flowers,  it 
makes  me  as  sure  again  that  the  dear  bodies  I 
have  laid  in  the  old  burying  ground  shall  'be 
raised  in  power,'  as  the  Scripture  says,  and  that 
my  eyes  shall  « behold  them '  some  spring  morn- 
ing. Don't  you  feel  so,  too,  Hepsy  ? " 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Hepsy;  "it's  precious  little 
I  know  about  the  resurrection,  and  you  don't, 
either.  We  haven't  any  call  to  go  into  such 
mysteries." 

A  look  something  like  despair  flitted  over  Mrs. 


6O  PERTURBATIONS. 

Adams'  face  for  an  instant,  but  it  soon  cleared, 
and  she  said  — 

"Hepsy,  come  here  and  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing!" pointing  as  she  spoke,  to  a  large,  old  pear 
tree.  "  There's  a  fat  robin  building  her  nest  on 
that  branch  just  under  your  chamber  window,  and 
you  can  watch  her  mornings  and  hear  her  sing. 
Isn't  that  nice?" 

"Hannah  Adams,"  said  Hepsy,  "you're  getting 
childish,  I  do  believe.  What  in  the  world  do  I 
want  a  robin's  nest  under  my  window  for? 
Watch  her !  As  if  I'd  stand  around  and  watch 
a  robin!  And  you  don't  seem  to  know  that  she 
and  her  young  ones'll  make  such  a  racket  in  the 
morning  I  can't  sleep  a  wink  after  four  o'clock. 
Don't  be  a  sentimental  old  woman,  above  all 
things,  Hannah  ;  there  ain't  anything  more  sick- 
ish  than  that." 

Mrs.  Adams  shut  her  lips  tightly  and  went  on 
with  her  digging  without  speaking.  She  was  dis- 
appointed and  hurt.  She  had  lived  for  so  many 
years  on  intimate  terms  with  Nature,  knew  all  the 
ways  and  tricks  of  plants,  insects  and  birds,  that 
she  had  forgotten  but  that  everybody  shared  her 
love  for  them.  She  would  not  keep  silence, 
though,  and  appear  to  be  offended  with  her  blunt 
sister.  She  spoke,  in  a  moment,  of  her  plans  for 
the  summer  garden,  and  asked  Hepsy  what  vege- 
tables she  liked  best. 


PERTURBATIONS.  6 1 

That  evening,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire  knitting, 
the  question,  "How  do  you  like  John's  wife?" 
was  suddenly  propounded.  It  was  Mrs.  Stone 
who  asked  it.  On  the  way  to  her  sister's  she  had 
made  it  convenient  to  spend  a  few  days  at  the 
Belleville  parsonage.  John  Remington  had  not 
told  his  young  wife  beforehand  that  Aunt  Hannah 
was  not  by  any  means  a  sample  of  all  his  aunts. 
He  would,  if  he  could,  have  spared  her  the  ordeal 
of  the  visit  until  she  had  become  a  more  expe- 
rienced housekeeper.  Mrs.  Adams  had  steered 
clear  of  the  subject  of  John's  wife  thus  far, 
because  she  shrank  from  hearing  the  criticism 
that  would  be  sure  to  follow,  but  she  answered 
now  — 

"Very  much.     Isn't  she  bright  and  pretty?" 

Mrs.  Stone  picked  up  a  stitch  before  she 
replied,  then  she  said — "Pretty  enough!  But 
she  ain't  any  housekeeper." 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  she's  perfect.  You  and 
I  weren't  at  her  age." 

"  Perfect !  I  should  think  not.  If  you  could 
have  seen  her  bread !  It  was  heavy  and  sour. 
Poor  John  !  He's  got  a  hard  row  before  him. 
You  are  great  on  conscience,  Hannah,  and  every- 
thing of  that  sort.  What  kind  of  a  conscience 
do  you  call  that  ?  Set  up  to  take  care  of  a  house 
and  look  after  the  comfort  of  a  man,  make  solemn 
promises  and  everything,  and  not  know  how  to 


62  PERTURBATIONS. 

make  bread  ?  I  say  it's  cheating.  A  girl  hasn't 
any  business  to  do  it.  Why  don't  she  learn  how? 
She  can  play  jigs  on  the  piano  and  sing  enough 
to  take  the  roof  off,  and  John  sitting  there  look- 
ing as  proud  as  a  peacock.  For  my  part,  I 
should  have  thought  he'd  have  been  mortified 
to  death." 

"Well,  she  will  learn  after  a  while.  She  is 
probably  a  nice  housekeeper  in  other  respects." 

"No,  she  isn't.  There  was  a  great  cobweb  on 
the  dining-room  wall  and  dust  on  the  clock-shelf 
all  the  time  I  was  there." 

How  vexatious  it  was  that  Hepsy,  with  her 
sharp,  prying  eyes,  should  have  gone  there  just 
at  first,  Mrs.  Adams  thought,  while  her  fingers 
flew  rapidly.  She  would  never  get  over  her 
prejudice  against  Martha.  It  was  sorely  try- 
ing to  have  anything  that  belonged  to  John 
condemned. 

"There  is  one  thing  to  be  thought  of,"  she 
said,  trying  to  be  calm.  "  Martha  has  lived  in 
the  city  all  her  life  where  people  buy  bread  a 
great  deal ;  when  they  do  make  it  they  are  accus- 
tomed to  a  different  kind  of  yeast ;  it  raises  the 
bread  very  quickly  and  with  little  trouble.  Of 
course,  though,  she  has  not  had  very  much 
experience." 

"She  ought  to  have  had  experience,  and  she 
wasn't  brought  up  right  if  she  don't  know  how 


PERTURBATIONS.  63 

to  make  yeast.  Why  didn't  John  get  a  sensible, 
smart  wife  while  he  was  about  it  ?  But  that's 
the  way  it  goes.  As  soon  as  a  man  gets  to  be 
a  minister  he  seems  to  lose  his  wits,  for  any- 
thing but  looks.  There's  no  fool  in  the  world 
like  a  minister.  He  can  be  cheated  and  taken 
in  at  every  turn.  Half  of  'em  get  wives  without 
a  bit  of  gumption." 

"Don't,  Hepsy!"  Mrs.  Adams  said,  with  such 
unwonted  sharpness  that  her  sister  dropped  her 
knitting  needle.  "Don't  speak  so  of  ministers; 
you  hurt  my  feelings,  and  I  think  it  is  wrong. 
They  are  God's  servants." 

"They're  nothing  but  men,"  persisted  Mrs. 
Stone;  "chock  full  of  faults  like  all  men,  as  far 
as  I  can  see.  As  for  John's  wife,  if  ever  she 
gets  to  be  a  good  housekeeper,  I'll  wonder.  I 
don't  believe  she's  of  that  stripe.  She's  sort  of 
airy  and  as  full  of  book  knowledge  as  John  him- 
self. I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Hannah,  I  hain't  a 
grain  of  patience  with  a  girl  that's  spent  hours 
and  hours  every  day  practicing  on  the  piano,  and 
set  up  nights  digging  at  French  and  German  — 
for  what,  nobody  knows  —  and  then  expect  to  set 
up  housekeeping  and  have  all  the  sort  of  learning 
that  she  needs  to  use,  come  to  her  just  like  the 
measles  or  whooping-cough.  It's  going  to  get 
worse,  too,  in  my  opinion.  There's  a  deal  of  talk 
about  wider  spheres,  an'  there  ain't  a  woman  in  a 


64  PERTURBATIONS. 

thousand  that's  half  filled  the  sphere  she's  in. 
Women  want  to  vote  and  be  ministers  and  law- 
yers, and  nobody  knows  what.  There  won't  be 
any  women  pretty  soon  to  keep  house.  I  say  a 
woman  hasn't  any  right  to  take  nice,  sweet  wheat 
and  make  it  into  a  sour,  hard  loaf  fit  for  a 
cannon-ball." 

Mrs.  Stone  was  on  her  hobby  now.  She  was 
talking  loud,  and,  in  her  excitement,  had  grabbed 
off  her  steel-bowed  spectacles  and  was  gesticulat- 
ing with  them.  Mrs.  Adams  would  have  laughed 
if  she  had  not  been  so  vexed  and  worried.  Of 
course,  young  wives  should  be  good  housekeepers. 
It  was  mortifying  that  she  seemed  to  be  defending 
inefficiency  and  that  Hepsy  seemed  to  think  she 
required  a  lecture  on  bread-making.  She,  indeed ! 
A  queen  among  housekeepers  !  So  she  answered 
her  sister  sharply,  and  contrived  to  grow  more 
and  more  nettled  until  her  frame  of  mind  was 
such  that  she  did  not  feel  like  family  worship  that 
night.  Dorcas  stared,  and  wondered  what  had 
happened  when  dismissed  to  bed  without  it,  and 
Aunt  Hannah  tossed  half  the  night  and  resolved 
not  to  allow  her  temper  to  run  away  with  her 
again.  She  had  thought  it  conquered  forever, 
but  here  it  was,  alive  and  rampant.  She  could 
not  sleep,  so  she  got  up  and  wrote  a  few  lines  to 
Martha. 

"Poor  child!"  she  said,  "you  had  a  bad  time 


PERTURBATIONS.  65 

with  your  yeast  and  your  bread.  You  used  too 
many  hops  and  put  the  yeast  in  too  small  a  dish 
to  rise,  are  the  secrets  of  your  trouble,  unless, 
maybe,  the  yeast  that  you  got  of  that  cross- 
Drained  woman  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
Milk  has  a  wonderful  power  of  absorbing  flavors ; 
who  knows  but  yeast  can  absorb  sharp  words  and 
bitter  feelings?  You  won't  be  likely  to  put  in 
too  many  hops  again.  Bread-making  is  some- 
thing like  religion ;  you  may  read  all  the  books  in 
the  world  on  the  subject,  and  you  may  have  the 
best  teaching,  but  you've  got  to  have  an  experi- 
ence; so  don't  be  downhearted  over  it.  When 
anybody  tries  as  hard  as  you,  they  will  be  sure  to 
succeed.  Remember,  next  time  you  make  yeast 
of  pressed  hops,  to  break  off  a  bit  as  big  as  a 
good-sized  hickory  nut;  that's  plenty.  Live  and 
learn.  Don't  think  it's  a  small  thing  to  fuss  over. 
It  isn't.  It's  a  great  thing.  Satan  has  a  hand  in 
some  bread-making,  I  verily  believe,  and  is  well 
pleased  with  the  result.  He  likes  to  have  sour 
bread  turned  out.  He  knows  it  makes  dyspepsia, 
and  dyspepsia  makes  miserable,  cross  people  that 
would  rather  die  than  live.  It  even  puts  the 
stomach  in  such  a  state  that  some  get  a  horrible 
craving,  and  so  take  liquor  and  end  up  by  being 
drunkards. 

"John  says  he  believes  more  in  my  yeast  than 
my  theology,  does  he?  —  he  always  was  a  saucy 


66  PERTURBATIONS. 

boy,  in  a  roguish  way  that  you  couldn't  help  lik- 
ing—  tell  him  he  has  good  reason  to.  He  has 
eaten  good  bread  for  years  made  of  the  yeast,  but 
while  the  theology  is  all  right,  my  practice  of  it 
has  been  so  lame  and  full  of  flaws  I  don't  wonder 
he  hasn't  much  opinion  of  it.  After  all,  my  idea 
of  it  is  about  like  this  —  I  believe  we  are  to  take 
Jesus  Christ  as  our  Physician,  give  up  our  case 
to  Him,  and  be  perfectly  sure  that  He  will  do  for 
us  what  we  cannot  do  for  ourselves,  and  then  go 
about  our  work  for  Him  without  doubts  or  fears. 

"  I  never  imagined  that  John's  wife  would  write 
me  a  long  letter  now  and  then.  It  is  almost  bet- 
ter than  getting  letters  from  him,  because  you  tell 
me  about  him,  which  he  wouldn't  likely  do.  I 
count  it  one  of  my  special  mercies.  I  hope  you 
may  have  grace  to  bear  patiently  all  the  trials 
you  will  meet,  whether  they  appear  in  the  shape 
of  hop  yeast  or  cantankerous  parishioners.  You'll 
find  plenty  of  them,  I've  no  doubt.  It's  a  wonder 
how  the  heavenly  Father  has  patience  with  any  of 
us." 

Mrs.  Adams  arose  the  next  morning  with  her 
ruffled  feelings  calmed.  The  air,  as  she  stepped 
out  on  the  side  porch,  was  filled  with  perfume 
from  the  orchard,  and  the  sun  was  just  putting 
into  the  eastern  sky  that  wondrous  picture,  brief 
and  glorious,  which  half  the  world  have  never  yet 
seen.  This  woman  had  not  missed  the  sight  for 


PERTURBATIONS.  6/ 

years,  but  she  watched  it  now  as  if  it  were  a  nov- 
elty. The  distant  blue  hill  was  being  touched  and 
glorified.  The  mill-pond  caught  the  glow,  and 
little  by  little  those  ruddy  beams  crept  over  the 
world  till  they  reached  down  and  sent  a  shaft  of 
golden  light  straight  by  her  through  the  open 
door  upon  the  wall  of  her  sitting-room ;  seeming 
to  her  devout  nature  like  the  benediction  of  the 
Lord  resting  upon  her  house.  She  got  from  that 
sunrise  hour  what  she  was  designed  to  have — an 
uplifting  of  spirit  and  refreshment  and  enlarge- 
ment of  mind  for  the  work  of  the  day.  It  is  free 
to  all  alike,  but  the  few  fall  heir  to  the  riches. 

"It's  a  beautiful  morning,"  she  said  a  little 
later  to  Mrs.  Stone,  as  she,  too,  stopped  by  the 
same  door  and  looked  out. 

"Yes;  but  it'll  rain  to-morrow,"  was  the 
answer,  in  a  lugubrious  tone.  "There  was  a 
circle  'round  the  moon  last  night,  and  there's  a 
dampness  in  the  air  now.  We've  had  so  much 
damp  weather  this  spring  it  makes  my  rheuma- 
tism worse." 

Her  Sister  Hannah  thought,  while  she  poured 
the  coffee,  that  if  she  knew  of  anything  that  would 
produce  a  spirit  of  cheerful  thankfulness,  and  could 
be  rubbed  in  like  liniment,  she  would  get  Hepsy 
a  bottle  of  it,  cost  what  it  might.  She  did  not 
speak  it  out.  She  had  resolved  to  abide  in  peace 
that  day,  and  allow  herself  to  speak  no  aggravat- 


68  PERTURBATIONS. 

ing  words  to  Hepsy.  And,  considering  her  prov- 
ocations, the  day  wore  away  quite  successfully; 
but  alas !  the  evening  brought  its  temptation.  It 
was  when  they  were  making  ready  for  bed.  Per- 
haps Mrs.  Adams  was  unusually  tired,  or,  as  the 
day  was  so  nearly  gone,  had  relaxed  her  vigilance. 
A  new  idea  had  struck  Mrs.  Stone. 

"How  lonesome  it  is  —  a  great  old  house  like 
this  off  in  the  country  at  night !  "  she  said,  while 
blinds  were  being  shut  and  keys  turned.  She 
followed  her  sister  about,  trying  doors  and  win- 
dows herself  to  make  sure  they  were  fast. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you  would  depend  on  locks. 
Why  don't  you  have  strong  bolts  on  every  door, 
Hannah  ? " 

"Locks  have  served  me  very  well  forty  years," 
Hannah  said,  grimly. 

"That  ain't  to  say  they  always  will.  They  say 
that  keys  can  be  turned,  and  locks  slipped  just  as 
easy  as  nothing.  Think  if  somebody  should  get 
into  the  house,  and  nobody  but  two  or  three 
women  here,  way  off  from  neighbors  !  " 

"You  forget  that  Peter  sleeps  in  the  kitchen 
chamber." 

"  Your  hired  man  ?  Well,  you  never  can  tell 
what  notions  hired  men'll  take,  or  what  rascals 
they'll  turn  out  to  be.  He  might  rob  you 
himself." 

"  Peter !     Humph !      Now,    Hepsy,    you    don't 


'  PERTURBATIONS.  69 

know  what  you're  talking  about.  You  are  saying 
the  most  ridiculous  thing.  I  wouldn't  have  your 
notions  for  the  world.  Peter  would  as  soon  think 
of  trying  to  knock  the  moon  out  of  the  sky  as 
robbing  me,  or  anybody  else.  I've  tried  him 
going  on  to  fifteen  years." 

Hannah  Adams  discovered  just  then  that  she 
was  talking  in  rather  a  high  key  herself,  so  she 
lowered  her  voice  and  said  — 

"Hepsy,  to  tell  the  real  truth,  I  don't  depend 
on  the  locks,  or  on  Peter  either,  for  keeping  me 
safely  at  night,  but  on  the  Lord,  who  slumbers 
not  nor  sleeps.  I  used  to  feel  nervous,  years  ago, 
till  I  got  a  text  to  help  me,  and  that  is  —  'What 
time  I  am  afraid  I  will  trust  in  thee.'  I  just  trust 
him,  and  all  the  fears  go  away.  Now,  you'd  bet- 
ter try  it,  too." 

But  Mrs.  Stone  had  talked  herself  into  a  state 
of  extreme  nervousness.  "That's  all  very  well, 
as  far  as  it  goes,"  she  said;  "but  you  don't  s'pose 
the  Lord's  going  to  take  care  of  you  if  you  leave 
your  doors  wide  open,  do  you  ?  Now,  in  my 
opinion,  you've  got  something  to  do  yourself," 
examining  the  lock  of  her  room  door  as  she 
talked.  The  chambers  connected,  so  Mrs.  Stone 
set  herself  to  making  both  doors  secure  for  the 
night.  She  slipped  a  pair  of  scissors  and  two 
nails  through  the  top  of  each  key  in  a  way  that 
should  prevent  their  being  turned.  Then  she 


7O  PERTURBATIONS. 

hunted  about  for  something  to  brace  the  doors. 
She  made  several  ineffectual  attempts  on  one  with 
her  umbrella,  opening  and  shutting  the  door,  and 
rattling  about,  while  her  sister  was  snugly  stowed 
away  in  the  bed,  saying  occasionally  — 

"Do,  Hepsy,  go  to  bed." 

The  umbrella  was  at  last  fancied  a  success,  and 
a  chair,  after  much  clatter,  was  supposed  to 
secure  the  other.  Her  next  care  was  the  win- 
dows. She  tried  every  fastening  in  both  rooms. 
One  in  her  sister's  room  was  open  from  both  top 
and  bottom.  She  shut  it  quietly,  and  fastened  it, 
with  a  furtive  glance  at  the  bed  as  she  did  so ;  but 
Hannah  had  heard  it. 

"Don't  shut  that  window,  Hepsy,"  she  said; 
"we  must  have  air." 

"Not  night  air,"  said  Mrs.  Stone. 

"  Why  not  ?  That's  all  the  air  there  is,  and  I 
never  heard  of  anybody  that  could  live  without 
air." 

"You'll  catch  your  death." 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  if  the  window  is  shut.  That 
window  has  been  open,  summer  and  winter,  for 
years  and  years." 

"Well,  it  ain't  safe,"  Mrs.  Stone  said,  in  a 
sepulchral  whisper.  "  There's  a  ladder  I  noticed 
leaning  against  the  back  kitchen.  Somebody 
could  climb  up  just  as  easy." 

"  Let  them  climb,  then.     I   guess   they  would 


PERTURBATIONS.  /I 

have  hard  work  carrying  you  or  me  down  a  ladder 
in  the  night,  and  that's  all  there  is  here  to  steal. 
So  open  it  wide.  The  air  is  rather  close." 

When  Mrs.  Adams  spoke  in  that  decisive  tone 
Mrs.  Stone  always  yielded  to  it,  though  it  was 
sorely  against  her  will  to  do  so  in  this  case.  So 
up  the  window  went  with  somewhat  of  a  slam,  while 
the  irate  woman  muttered  — 

"  When  people  think  they're  very  wise  there  is 
no  use  trying  to  teach  'em.  But  you  don't  know 
all  that's  going  on  in  the  world.  There  was  a  fam- 
ily murdered  last  winter,  in  Dutchess  County," 
speaking  again  in  low,  grewsome  tones,  and  as 
though  she  had  lived  all  her  life  in  a  great  me- 
tropolis. "  Hannah,  I  do  wish,  if  I'm  going  to 
live  with  you,  you'd  sell  this  pokerish  old  place 
and  move  into  the  village.  Why  don't  you?" 

Now,  Mrs.  Adams  had  borne  a  good  deal  for 
one  night.  This  was  the  last  straw.  Sell  her 
dear  old  home!  "A  pokerish  place,  indeed!" 
She  sat  up  in  bed  and  spoke  some  plain  truths, 
not  mildly,  ending  with  — 

"  Hepsy,  if  you  don't  like  my  home  you  are  at 
liberty  to  leave  it  just  as  quickly  as  you  please.  I 
shall  never  sell  it !  " 

Then  she  turned  over  her  pillow,  gave  it  several 
vigorous  thumps,  and  lay  down  again,  and  there 
was  silence,  except  something  that  might  have 
been  a  long-drawn  sigh  from  the  next  room. 


72  PERTURBATIONS. 

Mrs.  Adams'  conscience,  awake  and  alert  on 
duty,  administered  the  usual  castigations,  while 
she  tossed  and  sighed,  just  as  she  had  done 
the  night  before,  telling  herself  at  last  — 

"I'm  making  a  dead  failure  of  living  nowadays, 
that's  sure.  Hepsy's  been  here  three  weeks,  and 
I've  lost  my  temper  more  times  than  I  have  in 
the  last  three  years.  She's  made  of  different 
stuff  from  me,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I 
suppose  she  can't  make  herself  over  now,  at  her 
time  of  life.  I  might  have  been  more  pitiful  and 
patient.  Poor  Hepsy ! " 


A   SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  73 


CHAPTER  VI. 


BY     PANSY. 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

T3EAUTIFUL  spring  mornings,"  Aunt  Han- 
-LJ  nah  called  the  days  that  were  now  upon 
them.  She  had  written  of  them  in  her  last  letter 
to  "Martha,"  and  put  so  much  unconscious  poetry 
into  her  description  as  to  call  forth  from  John  the 
statement  that  "Aunt  Hannah  ought  to  have 
been  educated,  and  had  her  chance  in  the  world"; 
in  which  case  he  believed  she  would  have  been  a 
second  Mrs.  Browning.  And  "Martha"  had 
made  the  half-laughing,  half-earnest  reply  — 

"  She  has  been  better  than  that ;  she's  brought 
up  a  minister,  and  is  a  perfect  housekeeper." 

The  sad  truth  must  be  told  that  the  cares  of 
housekeeping  sat  very  heavily  indeed,  on  the 
shoulders  of  this  young  wife.  The  spring  morn- 
ings did  not  seem  "beautiful  '  to  her.  The  little 


74  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

kitchen  of  the  parsonage  had  been  built  on  the 
sunniest  side  of  the  house,  and  apparently  shel- 
tered from  draughts,  with  as  much  care  as  though 
it  had  been  an  invalid.  Neither  was  the  stove 
which  belonged  to  the  parsonage  conducive  to 
cheerfulness ;  when  the  wind  was  in  the  wrong 
quarter,  it  smoked ;  and  when  Mrs.  John  was  in 
charge,  the  wind  seemed  to  be  nearly  always  in 
the  wrong  quarter.  As  a  usual  thing,  the  oven 
chose  to  make  everything  very  black  as  to  upper 
crust,  and  very  raw  as  to  under.  Once  Mattie 
had  hinted  to  their  next-door  neighbor  that  she 
thought  the  parsonage  stove  must  be  wearing  out, 
and  had  been  treated  to  such  a  history  of  its  many 
perfections,  as  rehearsed  by  "dear  Mrs.  Perkins," 
who  was  the  much-quoted  wife  of  John's  prede- 
cessor, as  had  amused  Mattie  at  the  time,  despite 
the  evident  and  unfavorable  contrast  that  was 
drawn  between  her  and  Mrs.  Perkins. 

Certain  exaggerated  statements  then  made  had 
amused  her  so  much  that  she  had  been  tempted  to 
rehearse  the  conversation  to  John  with  inimitable 
reproduction  of  tone  and  manner.  He  had 
laughed  immoderately,  but  he  had  also,  when  the 
laugh  was  over,  said  — 

"By  the  way,  Mattie  dear,  we  will  have  to  be 
very  careful  in  mentioning  any  little  defects  about 
the  parsonage  or  its  furnishings.  This  parsonage 
has  been  the  very  apple  of  their  eye;  they  did 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  75 

have  everything  in  unusual  perfection  here  when 
the  place  was  new,  and  it  is  hard  for  them  to  real- 
ize that  things  can  wear  out.  We  shall  have  to 
; respect  their  feelings,  and  be  as  silent  as  we  can." 

Now,  this  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  that 
"Mattie  dear"  had  received  just  such  pleasantly 
worded  cautions,  although  she  believed  herself  to 
be  the  soul  of  prudence  and  forbearance. 

These  were  very  wearing  days  to  her  in  many 
respects,  and  once  she  had  been  startled  and 
ashamed  to  find  herself,  after  one  of  these  cau- 
tions, muttering  that  she  believed  John  respected 
everybody's  feelings  but  her  own  —  even  the 
stove's ! 

It  was  very  silly  and  unjust,  she  knew.  Noth- 
ing would  have  tempted  her  to  say  it  to  him,  at 
least,  so  she  believed;  nevertheless,  it  seemed  a 
relief  to  her  nervous  weariness  to  say  it  to  her- 
self. And  so,  because  of  many  things,  the  spring 
mornings  were  a  weariness  to  Mrs.  Remington. 

She  stood  in  her  kitchen  on  one  of  the  worst  of 
these  mornings,  fanning  herself  to  get  a  breath  of 
air,  and  feeling  almost  as  lifeless  as  the  leaves  of 
the  maple,  which  did  not  even  fan  themselves,  but 
lay  perfectly  still.  How  there  could  be  any  wind 
to  be  wrong  this  morning  she  did  not  understand. 
Yet  the  stove  smoked,  and  though  she  had 
patiently  shut  and  opened  in  turn  every  damper, 
it  still  refused  to  "draw." 


p6  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

It  was  late,  and  her  miserable  bread,  which  she 
had  come  to  hate  with  a  fierceness  that  appalled 
her,  was  slipping  over  the  sides  of  the  tins  in  a  sly 
way  that  it  had,  which  its  mistress  had  come  to 
know  meant  rekneading,  and  soda,  and  much 
weariful  waiting  for,  unless  the  fire  came  up  very 
soon. 

She  had  been  late  with  her  breakfast,  Saturday 
morning  as  it  was,  and  John  had  said  ever  so 
gently  — 

"We  must  get  around  earlier  on  Saturdays, 
dear ;  you  know  it  is  my  busy  day." 

Then  she  had  ventured  to  say  what  she  had 
often  thought  of  saying  to  him,  that  Dr.  Caruthers 
never  used  to  study  on  Saturdays ;  he  took  those 
for  his  rest-days  in  order  to  be  fresh  for  the 
pulpit. 

And  John  had  replied,  almost  coldly,  that  of 
course  he  was  not  Dr.  Caruthers,  and  must  work 
in  his  own  way,  even  as  the  Doctor  had  in  his  ; 
and  his  way  was  to  give  his  best  and  hardest  work 
to  his  sermon  on  Saturday,  in  order  to  be  throb- 
ing  with  it  on  Sabbath. 

Now,  Dr.  Caruthers  was  her  own  dear  old  pas- 
tor ;  his  was  an  honored  name  in  all  the  churches. 
He  had  had  forty  years  of  experience  in  sermon- 
making,  and  he  was  counted  as  the  most  eloquent 
preacher  in  the  city  of  her  birth. 

Why  need  John  speak  as  though  his  opinion 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  7/ 

was  to  be  set  aside  as  a  thing  of  no  moment  to  a 
young  minister  ?  It  sounded  almost  like  egotism 
in  him  to  speak  of  "his  way,"  as  though  so  young 
a  man  could  be  supposed  to  have  any  settled  way 
of  his  own  yet. 

She  had  not  put  precisely  these  thoughts  into 
words,  but  she  had  said  words,  and  John  had 
answered  them  in  a  way  that  made  the  stove 
seem  inclined  to  "draw"  less  than  it  would  other- 
wise have  done.  Not  that  these  two  had  quar- 
reled ;  oh,  no.  They  were  too  genuinely  in  accord 
at  heart,  and  withal  too  refined,  to  have  done  such 
a  thing.  But  John  had  spoken  in  a  different  tone 
from  usual,  and  had  said  at  last,  abruptly — 

"  Well,  I  certainly  must  go  and  work  hard,  if  it 
is  Saturday.  Good-by,  dear." 

And  he  had  not  kissed  her;  nor  had  he  remem- 
bered that  it  was  baking-day,  and  she  would  need 
some  longer  wood  on  purpose  for  the  oven ;  nor 
that  the  pump  went  hard,  and  she  would  need 
several  pails  of  water.  It  was  not  because  the 
pump  went  so  hard  that  the  young  wife,  thinking 
of  these  things,  took  the  corner  of  her  apron  to 
wipe  away  a  tear. 

Her  bit  of  a  sink  was  piled  full  of  dishes. 
John  had  brought  home  a  brother  minister  to  din- 
ner with  him  the  day  before,  and  then  had  said 
that  she  must  really  attend  the  funeral  of  old  Mr. 
Jacobs ;  that  it  was  the  custom  here,  and  the  peo- 


78  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

pie  would  feel  that  she  was  lacking  in  respect  if 
she  did  not  go ;  that  the  dishes  could  wait  until 
afterward,  and  he  would  then  help  her  with  them. 
But  in  the  first  minute  of  the  "afterward,"  even 
while  they  were  turning  away  from  the  cemetery, 
he  had  said  — 

"The  Potters  live  on  this  road,  about  half  a 
mile  from  here ;  I  think  we  ought  to  take  this 
time  to  call  on  them.  Mr.  Potter  asked  me  yes- 
terday if  we  had  moved  away. 

Mattie  thought  of  her  dishes,  but  went  to  the 
Potters,  being  greeted  with  —  "Why,  you  don't 
say !  We  had  no  notion  that  you  ever  meant  to 
call  on  us  —  gave  it  up  long  ago." 

Then,  having  been  kept  waiting,  while  Sarah 
and  Jane  Potter  put  on  their  best  dresses  and 
frizzed  their  hair,  it  dawned  upon  the  minister's 
consciousness  that  "Brother  Ferris  lived  within 
sight  of  the  Potters,  and  that  it  would  never  do 
to  pass  his  gate."  And  then,  and  then  —  who, 
that  has  made  calls  in  a  country  parish,  does  not 
know  the  story?  Who  is  surprised  that  it  was 
dark  when  the  minister's  horse  reached  his  own 
stable  ?  Or  that  the  minister  ran  in,  after  stabling 
him,  to  say,  "Mattie,  we'll  have  to  take  just  a 
bite  and  run ;  the  first  bell  is  ringing.  I  had  no 
idea  it  was  so  late !  " 

When  she  ventured  to  hint  that  perhaps  she 
would  better  not  go  to  the  Friday  evening  meet- 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  79 

ing  this  time,  he  had  turned  toward  her  with  a 
face  full  of  consternation  to  ask  if  she  were  sick, 
and  she  had  hastened  to  reassure  him  by  say- 
ing, "Oh,  not  at  all;  but  then  the  dishes,  you 
remember." 

"  Oh,  the  dishes  ! "  said  the  reverend  gentleman 
with  a  relieved  smile.  He  was  superior  to  dishes, 
good  man.  "  Never  mind  them ;  we'll  do  them 
when  we  come  home.  Don't  stay  from  the  meet- 
ing, dear,  unless  you  have  a  very  big  reason. 
Such  an  example,  you  know;  this  people  are  so 
given  to  making  excuses." 

So  they  had  taken  that  "bite"  which  the  ini- 
tiated know  soiled  more  dishes  than  the  orthodox 
supper  thinks  of  doing,  and  made  all  speed  to  the 
meeting.  After  meeting,  the  minister  was  told 
that  Deacon  Brewster  was  sick,  and  wanted  to 
see  him  on  particular  business ;  and  Mattie,  who 
was  not  used  to  the  country  streets,  and  did  not 
dare  go  home  alone,  must  needs  wait  in  Mrs. 
Brewster's  kitchen,  while  that  good  woman  nod- 
ded and  yawned  behind  her  knitting  work  and 
the  deacon  kept  up  a  low  growl  of  talk  with  the 
minister,  behind  the  half-closed  bed-room  door. 

Something  in  the  talk  must  have  disturbed  him, 
for  he  was  very  quiet  on  the  way  home,  and 
looked  so  pale  and  tired  that,  late  as  it  was,  Mat- 
tie  had  not  the  heart  to  say  "dishes"  again, 
knowing  well  that  he  would  insist  upon  helping. 


8O  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

So  she  set  her  sponge  and  went  to  rest,  remem- 
bering the  crowded  sink  and  the  faint  spring 
morning,  and  the  feeling  she  was  sure  to  have 
after  a  day  spent  in  calling. 

Do  you  wonder  that  the  breakfast  was  late,  and 
the  eggs  so  rare  that  John  could  not  eat  his,  and 
that  a  tear  rolled  down  the  flushed  cheek,  and 
dropped  on  her  nice  brown  apron  ? 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  —  the  woe-be-gone, 
embarrassing  moment  —  that  the  gate  clicked, 
and  Mrs.  John,  with  a  start  and  a  dismayed 
glance  around  the  room,  hastened  to  the  side  door 
to  forestall  any  of  their  "people"  from  coming  in 
through  the  kitchen,  and  encountered  in  the  door- 
way the  much-bundled  figure  of  Aunt  Hepsy 
Stone. 

For  one  little  minute  the  young  wife's  heart 
had  throbbed  with  a  gleam  of  hope;  that  gray 
shawl  in  which  the  figure  was  wrapped  was  a 
counterpart  of  Aunt  Hannah's  own  ;  but  the  next 
moment  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  face  behind 
the  thick,  green  veil,  and  the  hope  was  gone. 

"Well,  don't  you  mean  to  let  me  in,  after  all? 
I'm  beat  out  enough,  I  can  tell  you,  to  be  ready 
to  come  in  and  sit  down  in  something  decent.  A 
Jong  ride  over  such  roads  as  you  keep  in  this 
country  doesn't  make  a  body  feel  much  like 
standing." 

With  the  first  clause  in   this   sentence   Mattie 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  8 1 

had  sprung  blushing  from  the  door-way  in  which 
she  had  framed  herself  and  drawn  forward  a 
rocking-chair. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Hepsy,  I  was  so  sur- 
prised to  see  you  that  I  forgot  what  I  was  doing. 
Is  Aunt  Hannah  sick  ?  " 

"Not  unless  selfishness  is  a  disease,"  said 
Aunt  Hepsy,  grimly,  as  she  unwound  the  long 
worsted  shawl  in  which  her  head  was  bound. 

"  Hannah  has  lived  alone  so  long  that  she 
hasn't  the  least  idea  there  is  another  person  in 
the  world  except  her  precious  self.  I  have  borne  a 
great  deal,  even  in  the  short  time  that  I  have  been 
in  her  house,  because  I  knew  that,  living  alone  as 
she  had,  it  was  natural  she  should  have  grown 
selfish ;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  stand  her  if 
there  was  any  such  thing ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
turning  the  whole  house  out  of  doors,  damp  nights 
like  these,  and  leaving  us  all  at  the  mercy  of 
tramps,  and  then  being  so  cranky  about  it  when 
one  tries  to  reason  a  little  common  sense  into  her, 
why,  it  isn't  to  be  expected  that  human  nature  can 
bear  it. 

i  "  She  as  good  as  told  me  last  night  to  get  out 
of  her  house,  and  I  did ;  I  got  up  before  day  and 
was  off.  She  may  take  off  the  whole  left  side  of 
her  house  to-night  for  all  I  care.  I've  washed  my 
hands  of  her.  I  meant  to  spend  the  rest  of  my 
life  with  her  and  help  her  through  ;  but  she  is  too 


82  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

cranky  for  me.  I  made  up  my  mind  in  the  night 
that  I'd  come  and  live  with  folks  that  were  too 
young  to  be  so  set  in  their  way.  And  with  me  to 
resolve  is  to  do ;  I  never  was  one  of  your  wishy- 
washy  women  who  took  all  day  to  make  up  their 
minds  which  way  to  turn. 

"Hannah  hadn't  thought  of  waking  up  this 
morning  when  I  left.  How  she'll  feel  when  she 
finds  me  gone  I  can't  say.  But  it  serves  her 
right  for  talking  to  me  as  she  did.  Folks  can't 
bear  everything,  if  they  are  patient." 

Can  you  imagine  Mattie's  state  of  mind  ?  This 
terrible  aunt,  who  had  been  the  trial  of  her  life 
during  the  memorable  days  she  had  spent  with 
them  on  her  way  East,  had  invaded  the  peaceful 
little  home  planned  for  those  two,  planted  herself 
in  John's  easy  chair,  and  announced  her  determin- 
ation to  live  with  them. 

Could  human  nature  bear  this  ?  Would  John 
bear  it  ?  Would  he  allow  her  to  be  taken  posses- 
sion of  and  made  a  household  drudge  for  the  sake 
of  this  old  woman  whom  he  certainly  could  not 
love  ? 

A  dozen  times  that  morning,  as  she  made  her 
hurried  way  about  that  kitchen  did  she  assure  her- 
self that  John  would  never  permit  it  in  the  world. 
A  visit  was  one  thing,  and  to  come  all  uninvited 
to  live  with  them  was  certainly  another. 

Yet,  as  she  flew  about  her  warm  little  kitchen, 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  83 

in  frantic  anxiety  not  to  have  the  dinner  very 
late,  she  knew  she  was  also  anxious  to  see  how 
John  would  act. 

She  had  tried  to  shield  his  morning  from  inter- 
ruption, but  had  failed.  In  vain  she  had  assured 
Aunt  Hepsy  that  his  Saturday  mornings  were 
very  precious;  that  she  did  not  allow  herself  to 
interrupt  him  unless  the  need  was  imperative; 
Aunt  Hepsy  had  said  — 

"Nonsense;  as  though  she  should  interrupt 
him  by  stepping  in  and  saying,  '  How  do  you 
do  ? '  A  young  fellow  like  him  mustn't  begin  by 
being  so  notional ;  she  was  just  going  to  walk  into 
his  study  as  a  matter-of-course.  If  he  were 
humored  in  all  these  silly  notions  he  would  be  like 
Aunt  Hannah  herself  before  they  knew  it." 

The  lecture  closed  with  the  following  sen- 
tence —  "  You  needn't  be  afraid,  young  woman ; 
I'm  not,  a  mite.  I  knew  John  Remington  before 
you  did  —  before  you  were  born,  in  fact  —  and  I 
can  manage  him  without  any  trouble." 

"  Manage  him  ! "  The  idea !  Mattie's  eyes 
flashed  over  the  thought.  As  if  he  needed  man- 
agement in  any  way,  or  would  permit  any  human 
being  to  do  it.  She  meant  to  steal  up  to  their 
room  for  a  moment  after  she  had  rung  the  little 
silver  call-bell  which  was  his  summons  to  dinner, 
and,  while  he  was  brushing  his  hair,  say  to  him 
that  she  had  not  meant  to  be  "cross,"  nor  to 


84  A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE. 

think  of  comparing  him  with  Dr.  Caruthers.  She 
would  rather  hear  one  sermon  of  his  than  one 
hundred  of  the  eminent  doctor's.  Then  she 
would  say  how  sorry  she  was  that  his  precious 
morning  had  been  interrupted,  and  tell  him  how 
hard  she  had  tried  to  prevent  it.  She  felt  almost 
certain  that  he  would  in  reply  tell  her  how  very 
sorry  he  was  that  his  Aunt  Hepsy  had  come  to 
add  to  her  cares,  and  assure  her  that,  after  a  little, 
when  she  had  made  them  a  visit  and  had  had 
time  to  get  her  ruffled  feelings  toward  Aunt  Han- 
nah smoothed,  he  would  tell  her  in  the  kindest, 
most  Christian  manner,  of  course,  that  his  wife 
was  not  strong  enough  for  a  larger  family  than 
two,  and  that  Aunt  Hannah  would  be  hurt  if  she 
remained. 

This  being  the  case,  Mrs.  John  planned  to  say 
in  her  most  cheerful  tone  — 

"Never  mind,  John;  don't  worry  about  me.  I 
shall  manage  nicely,  I  dare  say,  and  I  shall  con- 
trive some  way  not  to  have  her  hinder  you  again, 
either;  see  if  I  don't." 

Elated  over  this  very  soothing  and  encouraging 
conversation,  she  almost  let  the  gravy  scorch, 
snatching  it  away  in  the  last  perilous  second  at 
the  expense  of  two  fingers,  that  immediately 
puffed  themselves  up  and  smarted,  and  the  clock 
in  the  dining-room  tolled  "one."  And  John  was 
already  on  his  way  down-stairs,  chatting  and 


A    SMOKY    ATMOSPHERE.  85 

langhing  with  his  aunt;  and  there  were  half  a 
dozen  "last"  things  to  do  whether  the  fingers 
burned  or  not.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  Dr. 
Caruthers,  and  he  had  not  apparently  been  dis- 
turbed by  his  aunt's  advent.  On  the  contrary, 
his  voice  was  full  of  cheer,  and  he  seated  her  at 
the  table  as  though  she  had  been  a  queen,  and  did 
not  come  to  help  Mattie  bring  in  the  dishes,  and 
nothing  anywhere  was  as  she  thought  it  would 
be. 


86    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

THERE  was  one  element  of  discomfort  about 
this    Saturday    that    I    have    omitted    to 
notice. 

Truth  to  tell,  Mrs.  John  Remington  would 
have  been  glad  not  to  have  had  it  noticed.  She 
felt  ashamed  to  think  the  thing  troubled  her  so 
much.  She  argued  within  herself  that  she  must 
be  of  a  very  mean  spirit  indeed,  if  she  could  not 
consider  the  feeling  which  prompted  the  act,  and 
ignore  the  bad  taste  of  its  outward  appearance. 
*  As  of  old,  the  occasion  for  disquietude  was 
connected  with  something  to  wear.  In  brief,  the 
minister's  wife  had  received  a  present  but  the 
evening  before  —  a  remarkable  present.  It  came 
in  a  bandbox,  with  the  compliments  of  Mrs.  Jonas 
Pryor  —  a  name  which  Mattie  had  not  fancied 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.    8/ 

would  ever  become  a  favorite  of  hers.  When  the 
bandbox  was  opened,  she  struggled  with  her 
,  inward  conviction  that  she  ought  to  feel  grate- 
ful. Therein  lay  a  bonnet  —  a  very  remarkable 
one.  It  was  made  of  mixed  green  and  black  silk, 
shirred  after  the  fashion  of  our  grandmothers. 
Some  of  the  shirrs  had  been  laid  in  the  old 
creases,  and  some  had  not.  Between  every  third 
row  came  an  obstinate  crease,  made  in  the  times 
when  the  silk  did  duty  as  a  dress  sleeve  —  a 
crease  that  refused  to  be  covered  with  stitches,  or 
ironed  out,  but  told  its  tale  of  "second-hand"  as 
plainly  as  though  it  had  a  tongue.  Nor  was  this 
all.  The  bonnet  had  what  in  that  region  they 
called  "strings" — broad,  green  ribbon  of  a  pecul- 
iarly trying  shade  —  ribbon  which  had  once  been 
handsome.  Mrs.  Jonas  Pryor  probably  paid  a 
good  price  for  it  in  its  best  days,  but  those  days 
were  past.  It  shone  with  recent  pressing,  and 
felt  weak  in  spots  where  much  former  tying  had 
worn  it  thin. 

A  second-hand  silk  bonnet,  with  second-hand 
green  strings,  for  Mrs.  Mattie  Kirke  Remington, 
Judge  Kirke's  only  daughter  —  a  person  for  whom 
in  her  young  ladyhood,  father  and  mother  had 
considered  it  hard  to  find  what  they  held  good 
enough.  It  was  all  very  strange.  The  minister's 
wife  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry,  until 
she  tried  on  the  thing  in  the  bandbox,  and  then 


88    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

she  laughed  loud  and  merrily,  being  upheld  by 
John,  though  his  was  a  shout. 

"It's  a  mistake,  Mattie;  they  mean  it  for  Aunt 
Hannah ;  no,  for  Aunt  Hepsy.  I  declare  it  looks 
like  Aunt  Hepsy !  What  in  the  name  of  common 
sense  possessed  them  to  choose  such  a  shape  for 
the  thing,  do  you  suppose  ? " 

"It's  a  second-hand  shape,  John,"  said  his  wife, 
with  an  hysterical  giggle ;  "  everything  about  it  is 
second-hand  —  ribbon,  shape  and  all.  Do  you 
suppose  they  mean  to  convey  the  idea  that  I  am 
a  sort  of  second-rate  woman  ? " 

"Nonsense!"  said  John.  His  voice  was  some- 
what sharp;  "don't,  Mattie,  take  from  it  the  only 
thing  that  makes  it  endurable.  It  is  an  expres- 
sion of  love;  of  that  you  may  be  sure;  ill-judged, 
I  admit,  since  a  bonnet  is  certainly  something 
that  you  do  not  need,  and  since  there  are  a  hun- 
dred things  which  might  have  been  chosen  to 
show  their  good  feeling,  that  would  have  been 
really  acceptable.  But  all  people  have  not  your 
exquisite  taste,  of  course ;  and  a  great  many  who 
mean  the  very  best,  see  only  appropriateness  in 
what  to  you  is  grotesqueness.  I  confess  that  I 
think  it  is  a  wretched-looking  affair,  but  you  can 
endure  it  a  few  times,  can  you  not,  dear,  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  that  prompted  it  ? " 

"But,  John,  how  do  you  account  for  its  coming 
from  Mrs.  Jonas  Pryor?  She  certainly  does  not 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.     89 

make  second-hand  bonnets  for  herself,  and  she 
has  reasonably  correct  taste — at  least,  her  mil- 
liner has  —  and  she  does  not  need  to  economize." 

A  shade  of  doubt  and  anxiety  crossed  the  good 
man's  face,  dispelled  almost  immediately  by  his 
sunny  smile. 

"  I  have  it,  Mattie ;  this  gift  is  not  from  her. 
Depend  upon  it,  some  poor  woman,  who  has  more 
heart  than  money  or  taste,  has  sought  to  show 
her  love  for  her  pastor's  wife,  and  chosen  this 
curious  way.  She  has  doubtless  confided  her 
plans  and  hopes  to  Mrs.  Pryor,  and  she  has  given 
what  help  she  could,  in  order  not  to  hurt  the 
woman's  feelings.  You  will  hear  a  story  about 
that  bonnet  which  will  touch  your  heart,  or  I  am 
no  prophet." 

"If  I  thought  that,"  Mattie  had  said,  "I  could 
wear  the  bonnet  all  summer  with  a  happy  heart. 
Poor  thing,  what  a  funny  shape  it  is  ! " 

Then  this  young  couple  had  laughed  again, 
immoderately,  albeit  Mattie's  laughter  was  very 
near  to  tears.  She  had  a  tender  regard  for  those 
who  were  loving  her  for  their  pastor's  sake,  and 
she  went  about  all  the  evening  with  a  gentle 
thought  for  that  unknown  poor  woman. 

With  Saturday  morning's  burdens  came  the 
thought  of  the  green  and  black  bonnet.  It  was 
very  well  to  say  she  could  wear  it  all  summer  with 
a  happy  heart.  She  had  felt  so  in  the  twilight, 


QO    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

with  John's  appreciative  eyes  on  her  face,  his 
own  lighting  the  while  over  the  pleasure  he  felt  in 
her  words,  but  in  prosaic  daylight,  with  the  stove 
smoking,  and  all  those  dishes  to  wash,  and  the 
thought  that  the  next  day  would  be  Sunday,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  think  what  a  strange  figure 
she  would  be  moving  down  the  aisle  with  John, 
inside  that  green  and  black  bonnet. 

Strangely  enough  it  presented  itself  to  her 
overwrought  nerves  just  as  they  sat  down  to 
dinner;  and  either  that,  or  the  pain  in  her  fingers, 
or  the  smoke  of  the  morning,  or  all  these  things 
combined,  brought  the  tears  so  close  to  the  sur- 
face that  John  looked  at  her  in  dismay,  and  said 
abruptly  — 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  in  the  world  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  Are  you  sick  ? " 

Then  Mattie  blessed  those  burned  fingers  in  her 
heart,  and  made  haste  to  parade  them  to  her  world. 

"I  burned  myself,  John,  just  as  I  was  taking 
up  the  dinner,  and  my  hands  smart  so  badly  I 
can  hardly  bear  it." 

Then  was  John  all  sympathy  and  helpfulness. 
He  wanted  her  to  put  cold  cream  on  them,  and 
flour,  and  raw 'cotton,  and  a  dozen  other  things 
that  he  had  heard  Aunt  Hannah  say  were  good, 
and  he  left  his  gravy  to  cool  on  the  plate,  while 
he  went  himself  to  find  a  soft  bit  of  linen  in 
which  to  enwrap  them. 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.    9! 

"Pity's  sake!"  said  Aunt  Hepsy ;  "what  a 
fuss  you  make  about  a  little  burn  on  your  finger. 
You  are  young,  to  be  sure ;  and  so  is  John. 
Why,  I've  burned  my  hand  before  now  so  that 
the  flesh  peeled  right  off  in  chunks,  you  may  say, 
and  made  less  fuss  about  it  than  this.  Not  that  I 
ever  burned  myself  getting  a  little  simple  dinner; 
I  knew  too  much  for  that.  It  shows  dreadful  inex- 
perience and  ignorance  of  the  right  way  of  doing 
things  to  keep  burning  and  cutting  one's  self 
doing  plain  housework.  Martha,  how  came  your 
mother  to  bring  you  up  to  be  such  a  kind  of  an 
ignoramus  about  all  useful  things?  Didn't  she 
suppose  you  were  ever  going  to  get  married  ? " 

But  John  had  returned,  and  was  binding  up  the 
fingers  with  skillful  touch,  and  cheerful  word  to 
Aunt  Hepsy  thrown  in  between.  There  was  no 
need  for  Mattie  to  answer;  which  was  well,  for 
the  tears  were  gone,  and  the  words,  had  they 
been  spoken,  would  perhaps  have  been  such  as 
were  better  left  unsaid. 

It  was  certainly  very  hard  work  to  wash  the 
dinner  dishes  with  those  burned  fingers ;  espe- 
cially as  by  this  time  the  young  housekeeper's 
head  ached,  and  her  feet  were  so  tired  she  had  to 
order  them  sternly  before  they  were  willing  to 
carry  her  at  all.  John  had  it  in  his  heart  to  help 
her  the  minute  he  could  coax  Aunt  Hepsy  to  her 
room  for  a  nap.  But  a  boy  came  for  him  to  go 


92    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

in  haste  to  a  sick-room.  There  was  only  one 
gleam  of  comfort  belonging  to  the  hour;  Aunt 
Hepsy  did  go  to  her  room  and  her  bed,  remark- 
ing that  she  was  rather  "tuckered  out"  with 
her  long  ride  through  the  mud,  and  there  she 
remained  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon,  to  the 
great  relief  of  her  hostess. 

A  weary  afternoon  it  was.  John's  call  was 
four  miles  into  the  country.  He  had  not  asked 
his  wife  to  go  along,  though  the  sweet  spring  air 
wooed  her,  now  that  the  morning's  lifelessness 
had  gone  out  of  it.  It  might  have  helped  her 
head.  But  of  course  she  could  not  go,  with  all 
that  work  to  be  done  and  company  in  the  house ; 
of  course  John  knew  she  could  not ;  yet  she 
wished  that  he  had  asked  her.  It  was  not  like 
him  to  rush  away,  even  on  such  calls  as  these, 
without  a  word  for  her.  This  was  another  of 
the  trials  growing  out  of  having  a  third  person 
always  present.  Would  she  be  "always"  pres- 
ent? Was  it  possible  that  John  could  intend  it? 
Yet  he  had  looked  almost  pleased  about  it.  The 
afternoon  hurried  away.  There  was  much  to  be 
done  and  the  wearied  woman  could  not  seem  to 
get  it  done.  There  were  constant  interruptions. 
There  was  finally  Mrs.  Pryn,  her  next-door  neigh- 
bor, who  "just  stepped  in"  to  see  if  she  could 
borrow  a  little  milk  for  tea ;  theirs  had  not 
come  yet,  and  Mr.  Pryn  must  have  his  tea  early 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.    93 

to-night,  because  there  was  a  trustee  meeting  to 
talk  about  some  things  that  needed  righting  in 
the  church. 

No,  Mrs.  Remington  could  not  let  her  have 
a  drop;  she  was  very  sorry,  but  her  milk  had 
soured  that  day,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
and  they  had  none  for  themselves.  This  she 
explained,  with  an  uneasy  wonderment  the  while 
as  to  what  needed  "righting"  in  the  church. 
Were  they  perhaps  going  to  right  the  matter  of 
the  pastor's  salary,  so  that  they  might  receive 
it  on  time,  instead  of  having  to  go  through  the 
humiliation  of  having  goods  "charged"  ?  —  a  word, 
by  the  way,  which  Judge  Kirke  had  brought  up 
his  family  to  regard  with  something  akin  to  horror. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Pryn  was  expressing  her  mind. 

"  Soured  ?  What  an  idea !  Such  a  lovely  day ! 
Why,  you  get  milk  of  Joe  Perkins,  don't  you? 
We  bought  our  milk  there  for  years,  and  never 
had  a  drop  sour  on  our  hands.  They  are  very 
particular  indeed  with  their  pails  and  pans  —  so 
neat,  you  know.  That  is  what  causes  the  trouble 
with  milk  —  carelessness  in  caring  for  it.  Mrs. 
Remington,  are  you  sure  you  remember  to  scald 
the  tin  you  keep  it  in  ?  Young  housekeepers  can- 
not be  expected  to  think  of  everything." 

Then  she  chose  a  fresh  subject. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  did  you  receive  a  box  last 
evening?" 


94    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

"Yes,"  said  Mattie,  trying  to  smile;  "quite  a 
large  box.  Somebody  has  been  very  thoughtful ; 
a  Christmas  present  after  Christmas  time.  I 
think  I  shall  call  it  a  birthday  gift,  as  last  Tues- 
day was  my  birthday.  Do  you  know  to  whom  I 
am  indebted  ?  Mrs.  Pryor's  card  was  in  the  box, 
but  I  cannot  suppose  the  gift  was  from  her." 

Thus  much  the  daring  little  woman  resolved  to 
venture ;  Mrs.  Pryn  would  not  be  likely  to  under- 
stand why  she  could  not  suppose  so. 

"From  her  and  me,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn,  with  a 
complacent  smile;  "she  has  a  right  to  claim  the 
most  of  it ;  though  the  strings  were  mine.  We 
talked  it  over,  she  and  I,  and  decided  to  see  what 
we  could  do.  Mrs.  Pryor  used  to  work  at  millin- 
ery when  she  was  a  girl.  She  said  she  hadn't 
made  a  bonnet  in  some  time,  but  she  believed  she 
could  make  one  which  would  become  you  bet- 
ter—  well,  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  say  that, 
but  it  is  just  the  words  she  said,  and  now  that 
I'm  started,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  finish  — 
*  better  than  the  one  you  were  wearing.'  That 
was  what  she  said." 

"Is  there  anything  wrong  about  the  bonnet  I 
am  wearing?" 

Mrs.  Remington  tried  to  keep  her  voice  natural 
and  quiet ;  but  she  felt  herself  trembling  in  every 
nerve. 

"Oh,   nothing  wrong,   exactly,"   with  a    slight 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.    95 

laugh;  "but  perhaps  not  just  the  thing  for  one 
who  occupies  your  position.  It  looks  so  sort  of 
bridey,  you  know.  But,  as  I  told  Mrs.  Pryor, 
said  I,  '  she's  young,  and  it  isn't  to  be  expected 
that  she  should  think  of  things;  and  her  folks 
never  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  ministers  nor 
churches,  I  suppose.' " 

"  I  ought  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Pryn,  for  taking 
my  part,  but  since  I  am  a  bride,  is  there  anything 
out  of  character  in  my  looking  like  one  ?  That  is, 
if  my  little  gray  and  white  bonnet  has  that  fault." 

"Well,  you  know,  Mrs.  Remington,  folks  will 
talk ;  and  now  that  you  are  a  minister's  wife,  and 
the  young  people  look  up  to  you  as  a  sort  of 
example,  Mrs.  Pryor  thought  it  would  be  just  as 
well  if  your  bonnet  wasn't  quite  so  jaunty  and 
citified." 

For  some  reason  Mrs.  Pryn  seemed  to  be  some- 
what embarrassed.  Perhaps  it  was  the  look  in 
the  great  brown  eyes  which  were  fixed  steadily  on 
her  face.  Certain  it  was  that  she  rose  up  sud- 
denly and  declared  the  necessity  for  hastening 
home  that  moment. 

Once  there,  she  sat  down  for  a  period  of  fifteen 
minutes  and  stared  into  space.  What  she  said 
that  evening  to  Mrs.  Pryor  was  — 

"I  declare  for  it,  I  don't  know  what  in  the 
world  it  was  that  makes  me  feel  as  though  she 
had  taken  that  green  bonnet  and  kicked  it  out  of 


96    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

the  door  after  me.  She  didn't  do  any  such  thing ; 
in  fact,  didn't  do  anything,  and  I've  told  you 
every  word  she  said,  and  she  spoke  low  and  meek- 
like,  but  that's  exactly  the  way  I  feel  about  it,  and 
I  can't  tell  why." 

Perhaps  it  was  all  these  things  combined  that 
made  the  breakfast  late  next  morning  —  later  by 
nearly  half  an  hour  than  Mrs.  Remington  planned 
to  have  it  on  Sunday  mornings. 

John  did  not  care.  He  was  in  those  respects 
the  most  patient  of  men ;  but  Aunt  Hepsy  asked, 
as  she  came  with  John  from  the  parlor,  in  answer 
to  the  little  silver  bell — "Was  that  the  breakfast 
or  dinner  bell,  Martha?  Seems  to  me  I've  been 
up  long  enough  for  it  to  be  dinner-time."  She 
declined  the  carefully  boiled  eggs,  on  the  plea 
that  they  were  bad  for  her  dyspepsia  —  she  always 
ate  hers  poached  —  so  Mattie  made  haste  to  poach 
two  for  her.  They  were  " underdone"  —  she 
never  could  endure  half-raw  eggs ! 

Breakfast  over,  John  drew  the  Bible  toward 
him,  and  began  to  read.  Into  the  solemn  music 
of  the  words,  "  Be  watchful,  and  strengthen  the 
things  which  remain,"  Mattie  broke  in  with  a  sud- 
den exclamation  — 

"John,  excuse  me  a  moment,  please;  I  smell 
something  burning." 

John  waited  in  grave  silence,  making  no  reply 
to  Aunt  Hepsy's  comment  — 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.     97 

"What  in  the  world  can  she  have  burning? 
She  isn't  getting  dinner,  is  she?" 

Back  again  in  her  seat,  the  rich,  musical  voice 
went  on  —  "  Remember,  therefore,  how  thou  hast 
received  and  heard,  and  hold  fast  and  repent." 

On  and  on,  through  the  long,  solemn,  wonden 
ful  chapter,  stopping  frequently  to  put  in  a  word 
of  comment — "Wonderful  sentence  that;  isn't 
it,  Mattie?"  or,  "Aunt  Hepsy,  that  is  a  great 
thing  for  people  like  us  to  look  forward  to,  isn't 
it?" 

They  were  much  in  the  habit  of  this  kind  of 
reading,  and  Mattie  usually  looked  forward  to  the 
hour  as  one  of  great  help  and  comfort.  But  on 
this  particular  morning  she  looked  oftenest  at  the 
clock  on  the  mantel.  How  late  it  was!  And  the 
work  not  done  —  not  even  the  breakfast  things 
put  away ;  and  there  were  a  few  little  things  she 
must  do  toward  getting  ready  for  dinner  before 
she  went  to  church.  If  only  John  had  not 
selected  so  long  a  chapter!  He,  blessed  man, 
was  immaculate  in  fresh  linen,  beautifully  laun^ 
dered ;  his  fine-fitting  black  clothes  were  spotless, 
and  his  serene  face  told  that  he  had  his  sermon 
well  in  hand.  Everything  about  him  said  — 
"  This  is  Sabbath  morning  —  a  day  for  spiritual 
rest  and  refreshment."  And  there  was  that 
dreadful  odor  of  burning  syrup !  This  time  Mat- 
tie  slipped  away  in  silence,  and  set  the  dish 


98    BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS. 

entirely  off  the  stove;  but  John  waited  for  her, 
and  finished  the  chapter.  His  prayer,  too,  never 
long  before  in  his  wife's  estimation,  seemed  to 
her  almost  endless.  But  at  last  it  was  over,  and 
she  was  in  her  dreadful  kitchen  again,  in  no  wise 
calmed  by  the  devotional  exercises,  in  no  wise 
rested  from  the  excitements  and  trials  of  yester 
day.  Had  not  John  said,  in  the  little  minute  they 
were  alone  that  morning  —  it  had  been  too  late  to 
talk  when  at  last  his  sermon  was  finished  the 
night  before  —  "  Poor  Aunt  Hepsy  !  She  has 
never  been  a  happy  woman ;  we  must  try  to  make 
her  later  years  feel  a  little  sunshine."  Did  he 
mean,  then,  to  give  her  a  home  with  them,  and 
without  consulting  her  in  any  way?  She  had 
opened  her  mouth  to  tell  him  about  the  green 
bonnet,  and  had  closed  it  again.  Since  he  was  so 
full  of  sympathy  for  every  one  but  her  perhaps  he 
would  sympathize  with  his  dear  congregation  in 
having  to  bear  the  scandal  of  her  wicked  gray  and 
white  bonnet.  She  would  tell  him  nothing  about 
it. 

This  was  the  way  a  perturbed  spirit  within  her 
put  it  to  herself.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  knew 
she  did  not  tell  him  because  of  a  resolute  deter- 
mination not  to  mar  his  Sabbath  with  bonnets, 
green  or  gray ;  but  it  seemed  to  fit  her  mood  to 
"make  believe"  all  to  herself  that  she  expected 
no  sympathy  from  him.  On  the  stove  once  more 


BONNETS,  AND  BURNS,  AND  BURDENS.     99 

was  that  tiresome  dish  of  fruit  which  had  been 
found  working  in  its  jar.  Sabbath  morning 
though  it  was,  she  was  trying  to  save  it  by  heat. 
The  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Aunt  Hepsy 
appeared. 

"Aren't  you  done  yet?  When  do  you  expect 
to  get  ready  for  meeting  ?  The  ten  o'clock  bell 
has  rung.  What  smells  so  all  over  the  house? 
Pity's  sake!  Do  you  can  fruit  on  Sunday? 
Well,"  in  answer  to  Mattie's  explanation,  "I  won- 
der what  Hannah  would  say  to  that !  I  didn't 
suppose  ministers'  folks  cooked  things  over  on 
Sundays,  if  they  had  been  careless  enough  to  let 
them  work." 

"Why,  Aunt  Hepsy,  it  isn't  wicked  for  straw- 
berries to  boil  on  Sunday,  is  it  ?  All  I  had  to  do 
was  to  pour  them  into  the  dish." 

It  might  have  been  the  tone  more  than  the 
words  that  sent  Aunt  Hepsy  out  of  the  room  with 
a  flounce ;  that  made  her  say  to  John,  two  min- 
utes afterward  —  "That  wife  of  yours  has  a  tem- 
per of  her  own,  I  see.  I  don't  know  but  I  would 
rather  be  imposed  upon  by  my  sister  than  to  be 
'sassed'  by  a  young  thing  like  her." 

"Mattie!"  called  John  half  an  hour  later,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  not  generally  used  to  her.  He  was 
in  the  lower  hall,  and  Mattie  was  just  tying  the 
strings  of  the  green  bonnet.  "You  really  must 
come  this  minute,  or  I  shall  have  to  go  without 


IOO        BONNETS,    AND    BURNS,    AND    BURDENS. 

you ;  the  bell  has  been  tolling  for  ten  minutes. 
What  can  possibly  detain  you  so  ? " 

What  had  not  detained  her !  The  morning  had 
been  simply  untiring  in  its  efforts  to  delay  and 
exasperate  her.  Not  a  pin  but  had  pricked  her; 
not  a  button  but  had  trifled  with  her  nervous  fin- 
gers ;  and  now  her  own  mother  would  hardly  have 
known  her  in  that  hideous  green  bonnet. 

"  Mattie !  "  said  the  voice  again,  "I  shall  have 
to  go." 

"Well,  go!"  It  was  the  bonnet's  fault.  The 
mouth  hidden  under  its  shadow  had  never  used 
such  tones  before  —  certainly  not  to  John.  "I'm 
not  ready,  and  I  can't  help  it.  Do  go." 

The  street  door  opened  and  closed.  Steps  were 
heard  on  the  walk.  She  could  see  them  from  the 
window.  John  had  given  Aunt  Hepsy  his  arm, 
and  was  bending  his  head  to  hear  her  words.  He 
had  actually  gone  without  her!  Off  came  the 
green  bonnet,  landing  by  accident,  on  the  floor. 
She  let  it  remain  there,  sank  herself  into  a  little 
wilted  heap  not  far  from  it,  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  sobbed  as  though  she  were  the 
"child"  that  Aunt  Hepsy  had  called  her. 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  IOI 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


BY    MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


IMPROMPTU     VISITS. 

OWING  to  the  loss  of  sleep,  due  to  the  excited 
state  of  her  feelings  after  the  jar  with  her 
sister  Hepsy,  Mrs.  Adams  did  not  rise  the  next 
morning  at  her  usual  hour.  The  sun  was  actually 
streaming  into  her  room  when  she  opened  her 
eyes.  Such  a  thing  had  not  happened  for  years 
as  that  he  should  get  the  start  of  her  in  rising. 

She  got  up  hastily  and  moved  softly  about,  that 
she  might  not  disturb  Hepsy. 

"Poor  thing!  I'll  let  her  sleep  late  this  morn- 
ing," she  said  to  herself;  "her  nerves  are  sort  of 
used  up,  I  s'pose,  and  I'm  an  old  goose  to  notice 
what  she  says.  I'll  try  what  extra  kindness  will 
do  for  Hepsy.  I  won't  ring  the  bell,  and  she  shall 
have  a  nice  breakfast  got  ready  for  her  when  she 


IO2  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

comes  down,  with  the  very  freshest  eggs  to  tempt 
her  appetite." 

She  smiled  pityingly  as  she  pulled  the  scissors 
out  of  the  door,  and  she  resolved  again  to  be  more 
patient  this  day.  Unusual  temptations  required 
unusual  effort  and  watchfulness,  Mrs.  Adams 
believed,  so  she  lingered  longer  this  morning  in 
the  little  room  to  which  she  always  retired  for 
prayer.  It  was  just  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  a 
small  room  with  a  sunny  window,  that  had  been 
her  husband's.  The  furniture,  beside  the  rag 
carpet,  was  a  shelf  of  books,  a  round  table  with  a 
large  Bible  and  an  arm-chair.  Here  in  this  room 
was  the  source  of  all  that  redeemed  Farmer 
Adams'  life  from  the  commonplace.  Scott's 
"Commentaries,"  Dick's  "Philosophy,"  Bacon's 
"Essays,"  and  Milton's  "Poems"  were  all  well 
thumbed.  Could  anyone  wonder  that  he  had 
seemed  so  superior  to  many  of  his  brethren, 
whose  treadmill  life  had  three  aims  only  —  to  eat, 
sleep  and  work  ? 

The  room  was  just  as  he  had  left  it,  and  here 
his  wife  came  daily  as  to  a  holy  of  holies,  reading 
his  books,  studying  his  Bible  and  trying  to  prac- 
tice his  virtues ;  always  humbly  assuring  herself, 
though,  that  she  should  never  be  as  good  as  he 
had  been,  not  in  this  world,  at  least.  She  knelt 
here  this  morning  again,  confessing  defeat  and 
failure,  saying  with  one  of  the  old  saints  — 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  IO3 

"  Lord,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite, 

Of  mine  own  self,  my  sin,  my  vanity; 
Yet  be  not  thou  —  or  I  am  lost  outright  — 
Weary  of  me." 

Intent  on  household  cares,  Mrs.  Adams  was 
surprised  to  hear  the  clock  striking  ten. 

"Why,  what  can  make  Hepsy  sleep  so  late?" 
she  thought,  starting  up-stairs  at  once  to  see  if 
anything  was  amiss.  She  went  softly  to  the  door 
and  looked  in,  but  the  bed  was  empty. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  said ;  "  Hepsy  went  down  the 
front  stairs  while  I  was  coming  up  the  back 
ones." 

She  hurried  down  to  carry  out  her  plans  in 
regard  to  the  breakfast,  but  Hepsy  was  not  in  the 
sitting-room,  nor  outdoors,  nor  anywhere,  it  would 
seem. 

"Where  can  she  be?"  Mrs.  Adams  asked  her- 
self over  and  over,  while  visions  of  Hepsy  plung- 
ing into  the  dark  waters  of  the  pond  floated 
through  her  brain.  She  went  up-stairs  again  to 
try  to  find  some  clue.  Hepsy's  bonnet  and  shawl 
were  gone.  Had  she  become  suddenly  demented 
,and  strayed  away?  Such  things  did  happen,  and 
then  the  echo  of  that  long-drawn  sigh  smote  the 
sister's  heart  and  she  wished  she  had  been 
kinder. 

She  pondered  awhile  in  deep  distress  as  to 
what  should  be  done,  and,  as  a  last  hope,  went 


IO4  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

down  to  the  kitchen.  Perhaps  Dorcas  had  seen 
her  start. 

As  she  had  herself  been  at  work  out  of  doors 
all  the  morning,  her  handmaiden  had  found  no 
opportunity  for  the  bit  of  sociability  which  she 
prized.  Mrs.  Adams  went  into  the  pantry  and 
busied  herself  at  stirring  up  a  gingerbread.  If 
Dorcas  had  anything  to  talk  about,  it  would  be 
sure  to  come  out,  she  knew. 

"Your  sister  took  an  awful  early  start  this 
mornin',  didn't  she  ? "  began  the  girl. 

"Yes,  she  did,"  came  from  the  pantry. 

"  I  most  always  hear  the  stage  go  by,"  went  on 
Dorcas;  "but  this  mornin'  I  must  a-been  so 
sound  asleep  it  took  my  wits  away.  I  heerd  a 
rumblin',  an'  thinks  to  me,  '  Is  that  thunder  ? '  An' 
then  it  come  nigher,  an'  I  knew  it  was  the  stage, 
an'  then  behold,  it  stopped !  I  couldn't  think 
whoever  was  goin'  away  to  our  house,  an'  I 
hopped  right  up  an'  looked  out  of  the  window, 
an'  there  'twas  your  sister  jest  gettin'  in  the 
stage." 

"Yes,  it's  pretty  early,"  said  the  crafty  mis- 
tress; "it  starts  a  little  before  five,  now." 

Her  inner  remarks  were  — 

"  Hepsy's  gone  to  John's  as  sure  as  the  world! 
Of  all  things !  It  must  be,  because  there's  no 
place  between  here  and  Belleville  where  she  would 
stop.  However  did  she  get  off  without  my  hear- 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  IO5 

ing  her?  It's  just  like  Hepsy  to  fly  off  the 
handle  like  that." 

"I  didn't  know  your  sister  was  a-goin'  away  so 
soon,"  said  Dorcas;  "is  she  gone  fur?" 

"To  Belleville." 

The  gingerbread  was  receiving  some  vigorous 
stirring. 

"Goin'  to  stay  long,  is  she?" 

"  Long  enough  to  make  a  little  visit.  Dorcas, 
run  to  the  barn  and  get  me  another  egg,  quick." 

While  she  was  gone  the  quick-witted  mistress 
came  to  several  decisions.  One  was  that  no  soul 
about  the  premises  but  herself,  be  she  ever  so 
inquisitive,  should  know  as  to  the  true  state  of 
things  if  she  could  help  it.  Another  was,  that 
Hepsy  should  not  stay  in  Belleville  and  torment 
Martha.  She  could  see  how  easily  it  might  be 
the  means  of  discord  between  the  young  couple. 
John  would  feel  bound  to  be  kind  to  his  aunt,  and 
manlike,  would  not  be  able  at  first  to  see  why  she 
couldn't  live  with  them  as  well  as  anywhere. 

"  And  that  little  wife  of  his  has  got  just  about 
as  much  as  she  can  manage,  I  mistrust,"  she  told 
herself  while  she  poured  gingerbread  into  the 
pans.  To  the  girl  she  said,  quite  as  if  Belleville 
was  a  matter  of  two  miles  away  — 

"  Dorcas,  you  may  get  me  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
bite  of  something  pretty  soon.  I'm  going  to  drive 
over  to  Belleville  myself  and  surprise  them  all.  I 


IO6  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

shall  stay  over  Sunday  and  come  back  Monday,  I 
guess.  If  not,  then  Tuesday.  Of  course,  you 
and  Peter  can  get  along  without  me  that  long." 

"Law,  yes!"  said  Dorcas;  "stay  all  the  week 
if  you  want  to." 

Nevertheless,  she  fell  to  wondering  why  Mrs. 
Adams  did  not  go  in  the  stage  with  her  sister. 
She  would  have  liked  to  ask  her,  but  there  was  a 
subtile,  indefinable  limit  to  the  freedom  of  the 
friendly  intercourse  between  mistress  and  maid, 
and  Dorcas  knew  when  she  had  reached  it. 

Mrs.  Adams  had  decided  to  go  by  herself, 
partly  because  she  did  not  want  to  be  "bothered  " 
with  anybody,  and  partly  because  she  wished 
Peter  to  go  on  with  his  ploughing,  and  then  — 
she  expected  to  bring  her  sister  home  with  her. 
How  that  was  to  be  brought  about  she  had  not  yet 
planned.  She  only  knew  that  when  her  wits  and 
her  will  set  to  work  on  any  hard  job,  it  was  usu- 
ally accomplished. 

It  was  not  much  past  twelve  o'clock  when  Mrs. 
Adams  gathered  up  old  Dolly's  reins  and  told  her 
to  "get  up."  Under  the  buggy  seat  were  stowed 
all  manner  of  good  things  —  a  little  jar  of  butter, 
a  basket  of  fresh  eggs  and  one  of  the  new 
gingerbreads. 

The  day  was  perfect,  and  Mrs.  Adams  would 
have  enjoyed  the  journey  immensely  if  the  per- 
plexity of  what  she  should  do  with  Hepsy  had  not 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  IO/ 

absorbed  her  so  that  she  could  not  give  her  undi- 
vided attention  to  fields  and  hills  and  woods,  just 
decking  themselves  in  all  the  bud  and  blossom 
and  greenery  of  springtime.  Hepsy  was  wonder- 
fully "set,"  and  when  once  she  took  a  notion,  she 
pursued  it  with  that  peculiar  steadfastness  com- 
mon to  stubborn,  narrow  people.  However,  Mrs. 
Adams  was  a  woman  of  resources,  and  it  must  be 
taken  for  granted  that  she  did  not  rack  her  brain 
for  nothing  as  Dolly  trotted  contentedly  over  the 
pretty  country  road. 

"We  shall  get  there  before  dark,"  Dolly's  mis- 
tress announced  to  her  when  they  were  within  five 
miles  of  Belleville,  which  the  wise  old  horse 
seemed  to  understand,  for  she  pricked  up  her  ears 
and  hastened  her  gait. 

It  was  but  a  minute  after,  when  passing  over 
some  logs  that  covered  a  wet  place  in  the  road, 
that  they  came  to  grief.  A  jolt ;  snap,  crack, 
went  one  of  the  axles,  and  down  went  the 
buggy. 

"Whoa!"  said  Mrs.  Adams  sharply,  and  Dolly 
stopped  short,  turning  her  head  far  around,  ask- 
ing as  well  as  dumb  eyes  could,  "  Whatever  is  the 
matter  ? " 

"Now  we've  done  it,  sure  enough,"  Mrs. 
Adams  said,  getting  out  and  speaking  aloud,  as 
she  always  did  when  excited  ;  "  my  buggy  break ! 
Of  all  things  !  " 


108  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

She  felt  almost  angry  at  the  old  vehicle  stand- 
ing there  brazen  and  defiant,  dragging  itself  in 
the  mud  in  that  shameless  manner.  It  and  Dolly 
had  been  standbys  for  years.  It  had  gone  up 
hill  and  down  hill,  and  over  all  sorts  of  rough 
places,  and  had  been  rated  as  good  as  gold.  Its 
owner  regarded  it  for  a  few  minutes  as  one  might 
an  exemplary  person,  who,  all  of  a  sudden,  breaks 
out  in  some  glaring  fault.  "  What  right  have  you 
to  be  disorderly?"  is  the  first  thought.  Dolly, 
too,  turned  reproachful  glances  at  the  old  gig,  as 
if  to  say  —  "  How  could  you  ?  Just  at  this  time, 
too,  of  all  others !  " 

On  the  hillside,  a  few  rods  away,  was  a  well- 
to-do-looking  farm-house.  Thither  Mrs.  Adams 
betook  herself,  after  unhitching  Dolly  and  tying 
her  to  the  fence.  It  was  a  good  half-hour  before 
the  farmer  and  his  men  came  in  from  a  distant 
field.  They  went  at  once  to  see  what  could  be 
done  for  the  broken  wagon.  After  many  ineffect- 
ual attempts,  they  announced  that  the  break  was 
such  that  it  was  impossible  to  mend  it  temporarily 
so  as  to  make  it  perfectly  safe  for  traveling. 

Mrs.  Adams  tried  to  hire  another  conveyance, 
but  they  had  nothing  on  the  place  light  enough 
for  one  horse,  as  one  of  the  family  had  gone  away 
with  the  spring-wagon,  and  would  not  return  until 
late  in  the  evening.  A  glance  at  the  tired-look- 
ing team  that  had  been  plowing  all  day,  convinced 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  IOQ 

Mrs.  Adams  it  was  useless  to  ask  to  be  taken  to 
town  by  them  that  night. 

Curiously  enough,  while  she  stood  there  per- 
plexed, her  thought  went  back  to  long  ago  when 
her  young  husband  had  tried  to  persuade  her  to 
learn  to  ride  on  horseback,  saying  half  jokingly  — 

''You  will  be  sorry  if  you  don't.  You  will  be 
in  a  tight  spot  some  day,  and  will  wish  you  had 
learned." 

Forty  years  had  passed  away,  and  the  tight 
spot  had  never  appeared  till  now.  How  easily 
she  could  get  to  Belleville  if  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  riding  on  Dolly's  back ! 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for  you,"  the  farmer 
said,  seeing  her  disappointment;  "I'll  send  your 
buggy  to  the  wagon-maker  Monday.  You're  wel- 
come to  stay  with  us  to-night,  and  to-morrow  we'll 
drive  over  to  town." 

"So  that  I  will  be  in  time  for  church?"  Mrs. 
Adams  asked.  "  But  I  suppose  you  go  to  church 
there  yourselves." 

"No,  we  don't  go  to  church  mostly;  but  we'll 
drive  you  over  in  time." 

There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  but  submit 
thankfully. 

While  tea  was  getting  ready  Mr.  Craig  com- 
pared notes  with  Mrs.  Adams,  and  was  so  much 
pleased  with  her  knowledge  of  farming  and  her 
shrewd  remarks,  that  the  way  was  opened  for  her 


IIO  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

kindly  words  of  inquiry  about  the  things  that  per- 
tain to  the  other  life,  which  this  true  servant  of 
her  Master  found  opportunity  to  speak  later  in 
the  evening.  When  we  see  no  longer  "through  a 
glass  darkly,"  Mrs.  Adams  will  doubtless  find 
that  what  was  called  an  accident  that  afternoon  in 
front  of  Farmer  Craig's,  had  to  do  with  his  eter- 
nal destiny.  So  it  is  that  the  earthly  and  the  ' 
commonplace  serve  the  divine  and  glorious. 

"That  is  the  house;  the  white  one,  with 
green  blinds,  set  far  back  from  the  street,"  Mrs. 
Adams  told  Mr.  Craig,  as  they  drove  down  the 
village  street  the  next  morning,  just  as  the  last 
bell  began  to  ring.  "I'd  better  go  right  on  to 
the  church,  for  I  s'pose  John's  folks  have  gone." 

Just  then  she  caught  sight  of  the  front  door 
standing  part  way  open.  Somebody  must  be  at 
home.  She  decided  to  stop.  She  walked  in 
without  knocking  or  ringing,  after  the  manner  of 
privileged  relatives,  through  the  parlor,  on  into 
the  little  dining-room  and  kitchen. 

"Who  knows  but  Martha  is  up-stairs  sick?"  she 
said  to  herself. 

Half  believing  it  to  be  true,  by  the  time  she 
reached  the  top,  she  tiptoed  softly  through  the 
hall  and  to  Martha's  door,  lest  she  might  be 
asleep,  and  it  would  startle  her  to  be  awakened 
suddenly. 

That   young    woman    was    still    sitting    on    the 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  I  I  I 

floor,  a  picture  of  despair,  what  there  was  to  be 
seen  of  her.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  her  hands, 
for  it  must  be  known  that  it  was  only  about 
three  minutes  after  John  had  turned  the  corner 
on  his  way  to  church  that  Aunt  Hannah  drove 
up  from  the  other  direction. 

The  wise  aunt  turned  softly  away  and  knocked 
at  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  There  was 
a  spring  and  a  rustle,  a  splashing  of  water,  and 
then  Martha  came  to  the  door,  her  face  half  hid- 
den in  a  towel,  saying  as  she  cautiously  peeped 
out  one  side  of  the  door — "Who  can  it  be? 
Aunt  Hannah  ! " 

And  then  the  minister's  wife,  who  was  nothing 
but  a  girl  after  all,  threw  her  arms  about  this 
dear  old  aunt  and  hid  her  tear-stained  face  in  her 
neck. 

"Why,  Martha  child,  what's  the  matter?  Are 
you  sick?"  the  kind  voice  asked. 

"No,  Aunt  Hannah;  I'm  ashamed." 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  and  the  old  lady  put  back  a 
stray  brown  curl,  and  looked  down  tenderly  at  the 
sweet  face  as  if  she  thought  its  owner  could  not 
have  gone  far  wrong. 

"Why,  you  see,"  Mattie  said,  as  she  led  Aunt 
Hannah  into  her  room,  and,  placing  her  in  an 
easy-chair,  knelt  by  the  side  of  it  with  her  elbow 
resting  on  the  arm,  "  everything  has  gone  wrong 
this  morning.  In  the  first  place,  breakfast  was 


112  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

late,  and  I  found  a  can  of  strawberries  working, 
and  I  hindered  myself  a  little  heating  them  over, 
and  Aunt  Hepsy"-—  then  she  remembered  to 
whom  she  was  speaking,  and  came  to  an  embar- 
rassed standstill. 

"Yes,  I  know.  Go  on,"  Aunt  Hannah  said, 
smiling. 

"Well,  never  mind  about  Aunt  Hepsy;  I  ought 
not  to  say  it,  anyway.  The  rest  and  the  worst  is, 
that  I  wasn't  ready  when  it  was  time  to  go  to 
church,  and  John  went  off  without  me." 

The  very  worst,  she  knew,  she  hid  in  her  heart 
even  from  Aunt  Hannah,  and  that  was  that  John 
had  spoken  just  the  least  bit  cross  when  he  asked 
her  if  she  was  ready.  And  then,  there  was  no 
such  great  hurry,  after  all ;  the  last  bell  had  only 
just  stopped  ringing,  and  it  would  toll  several  min- 
utes. John  liked  to  be  there  early  and  all  settled 
before  the  people  got  in,  and  that  was  right ;  but 
she  could  not  help  feeling  that,  considering  every- 
thing, he  might  have  waited  one  minute  longer. 

"I  understand  all  about  it,"  said  Aunt  Hannah. 
"You  didn't  feel  like  going  alone,  did  you?  But 
put  on  your  bonnet  and  go  with  me.  I  want  to 
hear  John  preach." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Hannah,  I  can't.  Look  at  my  red 
eyes.  Everybody  would  know  I  had  been  crying." 

"  Put  that  little  veil  you  wear  over  them,  and 
come,  child.  You'll  feel  better  if  you  do." 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  113 

"We'll  be  late,  Aunt  Hannah,  and  John  doesn't 
/ike  to  see  people  come  in  late." 

"He'll  be  glad  to  see  us,  I  reckon,"  said  Aunt 
Hannah,  while  her  eyes  twinkled. 

Mattie  got  up  slowly  and  picked  up  the  green 
bonnet.  She  had  meant  to  make  John  feel  sorry 
by  staying  at  home,  but  she  wanted  to  please 
Aunt  Hannah,  and  then  it  was  right  to  go. 
There  was  another  reason,  too.  She  could  fairly 
hear  Mrs.  Pryor  coming  to  borrow  a  pan  or  a 
clothes-pin  on  Monday  morning,  and  saying, 
"why  weren't  you  at  church  yesterday  morning?" 
Yes,  it  was  better  to  go. 

"Why,  what  bonnet  is  that?"  said  Aunt  Han- 
nah, who  had  a  very  good  eye  to  the  becoming- 
ness  of  things.  "That  isn't  yours,  is  it  ?  " 

"No  —  yes,"  said  Mattie,  with  a  hysterical  little 
laugh.  "It  was  given  to  me.  I  suppose  I've  got 
to  wear  it.  I  feel  like  a  fright  in  it." 

"You  look  like  a  fright.  Nobody  has  any 
right  to  ask  you  to  put  on  such  a  thing.  Wear 
that  pretty  little  bonnet  you  wore  on  the  first  Sun- 
day. You'll  make  folks  break  the  Sabbath  laugh- 
ing at  you  if  you  wear  that.  It  looks  as  if  it  might 
have  been  made  for  your  great-grandmother." 

So  the  little  gray  and  white  bonnet  went  on, 
after  all,  though  Mattie  compromised  matters  for 
Mrs.  Pryn  and  Mrs.  Pryor  by  tucking  most  of 
the  white  feather  under  a  soft  gray  veil. 


I  14  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

"There!  You'll  do,"  Aunt  Hannah  said,  with 
an  admiring  look.  "Now  I'll  walk  as  fast  as  I 
can.  We'll  be  there  in  time  to  hear  the  sermon ; 
and  if  Mr.  John  doesn't  approve  of  us  he  can 
turn  us  out." 

It  almost  made  "Mr.  John"  lose  his  balance 
when  the  door  opened  and  Mattie  walked  in  with 
Aunt  Hannah.  They  dropped  into  a  seat  near 
the  door,  but  many  a  head  was  twisted  and  sev- 
eral pairs  of  inquisitive  eyes  rested  upon  them, 
nevertheless.  And  there  were  two  women  who 
looked  at  each  other  in  a  meaning  way  when 
they  discovered  what  bonnet  the  minister's  wife 
wore  that  day. 

The  sermon  was  on  the  text :  "  Love  as  breth- 
ren, be  pitiful,  be  courteous." 

Nobody  listening  to  the  fervid  utterances  of  the 
preacher  would  have  had  a  suspicion  that  during 
prayer-time  his  young  wife  was  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  hide  her  face  for  a  little  and  wipe  away 
a  tear  caused  by  the  remembrance  of  the  impa- 
tient tone  of  the  same  voice  that  now  fell  so 
agreeably  upon  the  ears  of  the  worshipers.  Nev- 
ertheless, the  voice  did  not  belong  to  a  dissembler 
nor  to  a  churlish  husband.  In  general,  he  did 
practice  all  he  preached,  but  as  he  was  not  an 
experienced  preacher,  and  had  not  learned  to  pos- 
sess his  soul  in  peace  on  Sabbath  mornings  before 
preaching,  the  strings  of  his  nervous  organization 


IMPROMPTU    VISITS.  115 

were  tense,  and  all  considerations  save  one,  that 
of  delivering  his  message,  seemed  for  the  time 
unimportant.  In  fact,  John  Remington  had  not 
had  time  to  make  a  study  of  a  woman's  nature. 
He  was  engaged  in  it  now,  day  by  day,  and 
enjoyed  the  research.  He  was  slowly  learning 
that  his  Aunt  Hannah,  self-reliant,  calm,  suffi- 
cient unto  herself,  was  scarcely  to  be  considered 
as  a  type  of  all  women,  and  he  was  becoming  con- 
vinced that  years  would  not  suffice  to  reveal  to 
him  the  many-sided  nature  of  the  wife  he  had 
chosen,  who  was,  by  turns,  gay,  piquant,  willful, 
grave,  dignified,  tender,  sensitive,  a  creature  of 
moods,  none  of  them  positively  unlovely,  and  all 
governed  by  conscience.  A  being  too  human  to 
be  worshiped  and  too  dear  to  be  long  condemned. 
She  had  been  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  love, 
where  even  chiding  was  accompanied  by  a  caress 
and  a  soft  tone.  What  wonder  that  she  was 
inclined  occasionally  to  consider  a  molehill  a 
mountain,  when  a  thoughtless  or  absorbed  man 
gave  her  a  hasty  word,  or  no  word  at  all  ? 

Mattie  didn't  enjoy  the  sermon  as  was  her  wont. 
In  the  first  place,  she  felt  strange  and  ill  at  ease 
out  of  her  own  seat ;  she  knew  that  curious  eyes 
were  upon  her,  and  then  the  tears  had  not  all  had 
their  way.  When  she  was  fairly  seated  in  church 
and  it  all  came  over  her  again,  one  or  two  actually 
filled  her  eyes  and  dropped  on  her  cheek.  It  so 


Il6  IMPROMPTU    VISITS. 

happened  that  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes  in  the  seat 
next  her  observed  it.  Their  owner,  with  great 
secrecy,  revealed  this  choice  bit  of  gossip  to  a 
familiar  spirit  next  day. 

"  Our  minister  and  his  wife  don't  live  happy,  I 
guess.  He  went  off  without  her  in  the  morning, 
and  I  saw  her  crying  in  church." 

While  the  minister  enlarged  upon  the  sinful- 
ness  of  Christians  warring  with  each  other,  the 
congregation  was  as  the  average.  Some  slept, 
some  fitted  the  coats  to  their  neighbors,  while 
others  received  the  word  with  meekness  and  grew 
thereby,  and  a  type  of  each  of  the  latter  class 
was  found  in  the  minister's  Blunts,  who  listened 
intently  to  every  syllable. 

"Hannah  Adams!  Of  all  things!"  K^osy 
said  in  a  loud  whisper  as  they  came  out  of  the 
church  door.  "What  brought  you  here?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  I'd  surprise  you  all.  You  rrn 
off  and  left  me  and  it  was  sort  o'  lonesome,  so  I 
thought  we  might  as  well  have  a  visit  together." 

"And  you  traveled  Sunday!" 

"No;  I  didn't  start  Sunday." 

John  came  along  just  then  with  a  joyful,  "Why 
Aunt  Hannah  ! "  and  listened  to  the  story  of  the 
break-down,  and  then  he  and  Aunt  Hannah 
walked  home  together,  leaving  the  other  aunt  to 
follow  with  Mattie. 


RECONCILIATIONS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


BY    MRS.   C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


RECONCILIATIONS. 

WHILE  the  sisters  laid  off  bonnets  and 
shawls  in  the  guest  chamber  it  came 
over  Aunt  Hannah  that  she  had  a  duty  to  per- 
form which  is  never  a  pleasant  one.  It  was  not 
an  easy  task  to  make  confession  of  wrong  to 
Hepsy ;  she  always  took  on  such  an  injured,  self- 
righteous  air  which  made  one  feel  almost  sorry 
at  having  humbled  one's  self.  It  was  especially 
hard  for  Mrs.  Adams,  because  it  was  so  many 
years  since  she  had  had  differences  with  anybody. 
She  had  almost  forgotten  the  language  of  apology. 
She  was  one  to  do  it,  though,  if  she  went  through 
fire  in  the  process. 

"  Hepsy,"  she  began,  while  she  folded  her 
shawl  with  exactness,  "I  needn't  have  been  so 
short  with  you  the  other  night.  I  had  no  right 


1 1 8  "  RECONCILIATIONS. 

to  get  angry,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it.  But  it  upset 
me  a  little  when  you  talked  about  my  selling  the 
farm.  I  s'pose  I  set  too  much  by  the  old 
place." 

"Humph!  I  should  think  so!"  replied  Hepsy, 
a  look  of  unmistakable  triumph  on  her  face. 
"I'm  glad  the  sermon  took  effect  on  you  so 
quick ;  telling  your  own  sister  to  get  out  of  your 
house!" 

"You're  mistaken  in  that,  Hepsy,"  Mrs.  Adams 
went  on,  controlling  voice  and  face  lest  the  effort 
at  reconciliation  should  be  the  occasion  of  a  fresh 
quarrel ;  "  I  said  you  *  could  go  if  you  were 
not  pleased/  but  I  needn't  have  said  that,  and 
wouldn't  if  I'd  not  been  a  little  provoked,  and  I 
want  you  to  know  that  my  insisting  on  the  win- 
dow being  left  open  was  not  because  I  was  stub- 
born or  selfish.  I  knew  you  could  shut  your 
door  if  you  felt  the  wind,  but  I  believe  it  neces- 
sary to  health  to  have  fresh  air  in  a  sleeping-room, 
and  for  my  part  I  can't  do  without  it." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  Hepsy. 

"We  can  have  slats  nailed  across,  if  you  are 
' afraid,"  the  even  voice  went  on,  determined  to 
gain  a  victory  over  itself  this  time. 

"Well,  I'll  see;  maybe  I'll  go  back  since  you 
felt  so  bad  about  it  as  to  hitch  right  up  an'  go 
after  me,"  Hepsy  said,  complacently;  and  Han- 
nah had  the  grace  to  be  silent. 


RECONCILIATIONS.  I  IQ 

Down-stairs  another  reconciliation  was  in  prog- 
ress, but  the  process  was  different. 

John  was  kindling  a  fire  in  the  kitchen.  Mat- 
tie  had  just  come  down-stairs,  her  church  dress 
changed  for  a  gingham.  She  was  on  her  dignity. 
John  saw  that  at  once.  She  did  not  come  to 
him  and  tell  him  that  that  was  the  very  best 
sermon  he  had  ever  preached. 

He  came  over  to  where  Mattie  stood  when 
he  had  got  the  fire  to  crackling  and  the  tea-kettle 
on.  She  was  cutting  cold  corned  beef  into  thin 
pink  slices. 

"Shall  I  do  that  for  you?"  he  asked;  but  his 
offer  was  coldly  declined. 

After  standing  in  silence  a  minute,  John  said, 
roguishly  — 

"I'll  forgive  you." 

This  was  a  jocose  way  he  had  adopted  of  ask- 
ing pardon  after  some  slight  tiff.  Mattie  usually 
met  it  with  a  laugh  and  a  kiss,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  the  trouble.  But  to-day's  grievance  was 
too  great  to  admit  of  being  disposed  of  in  any 
such  trifling  manner. 

His  wife  did  not  answer.  She  only  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  that  he  knew  had  shed  tears. 

"Did  I  break  'um  heart?"  John  asked  in  a  low, 
tender  voice,  such  as  might  melt  the  heart  of  a 
stone.  Her  head  just  reached  to  his  breast.  He 
pulled  it  down,  though  it  made  a  feeble  resist- 


I2O  RECONCILIATIONS. 

ance,  and  smoothed  the  brown  hair,  while  the 
same  deep,  tender  voice  murmured  — 

"Mattie,  dear,  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  so. 
I  acted  like  a  bear.  I'm  very  sorry,  and  I  might 
have  waited  just  a  minute  more  for  you  to  go  to 
church  with  me.  Poor  little  wife  had  so  much 
work." 

Ah,  that  was  royal  reparation,  and  met  with 
royal  forgiveness  as  well.  The  storm  was  over, 
and  these  two  loving  hearts  flowed  on  again  as 
one.  Fortunate  beings,  who  had  learned  one  of 
the  secrets  of  happiness  in  married  life — not  to 
allow  hours  and  days  of  gloom  and  alienation  to 
pass  because  they  were  too  proud  to  speak  the 
word  "forgive."  "Let  not  the  sun  go  down 
upon  your  wrath."  It  must  have  been  written 
more  especially  for  young  husbands  and  wives. 

"You  didn't  let  your  bread  get  light  enough, 
did  you,  Martha?"  Aunt  Hepsy  said,  as  she 
helped  herself  to  a  slice. 

Poor  Martha  flushed  at  having  attention  called 
to  the  one  thing  on  the  table  that  was  not  excel- 
lent. Aunt  Hannah  hastened  to  remark  that  the 
corned  beef  was  delicious,  cooked  just  right,  and 
then  she  engaged  John  in  a  tide  of  talk  about  his 
old  pastor  and  the  church  at  home. 

After  dinner  Aunt  Hannah  tied  on  a  large 
apron  she  had  brought  with  her,  and  helped  Mat- 
tie  do  up  the  work.  Her  experienced  eye  took 


RECONCILIATIONS.  1 2  I 

in  little  details  about  kitchen  and  pantry,  and 
rejoiced  in  them.  Everything  was  orderly  and 
neat.  The  elements  of  a  good  housekeeper  were 
there  without  doubt.  She  was  especially  pleased 
to  notice  that  the  dishpans  were  clean  and  dry, 
the  towels  washed  out  and  hung  in  the  air  to  dry, 
and  the  dishcloth — humble  instrument  though 
it  was,  but  an  unerring  test  of  neatness,  never- 
theless—  was  sweet  and  white  and  dry,  though 
almost  worn  out.  Then  there  were  no  cluttered 
corners  where  dust  and  disorder  reigned.  Aunt 
Hannah  was  pleased.  She  nodded  her  head  to 
herself,  and  said — . 

"She'll  do." 

John  went  to  his  study,  Aunt  Hepsy  to  take  a 
nap,  while  Aunt  Hannah  and  Mattie  had  a  long, 
quiet  talk,  helpful  to  the  younger  woman  and 
refreshing  to  the  spirits  of  both. 

"John,"  said  Aunt  Hannah  the  next  morning, 
when  they  happened  to  be  left  alone,  "I  want 
you  to  let  Martha  go  home  with  me  for  a  couple 
of  weeks,  at  least.  She  needs  a  change.  I  don't 
know  how  long  Hepsy  intends  to  stay,  but  she  is 
perfectly  able  to  keep  house  for  you  two,  and  I 
don't  think  Martha  is  strong  enough  in  this  spring 
weather  to  have  company.  She  looks  pale,  and 
of  course  she  has  to  do  a  good  deal  of  work  she 
isn't  used  to;  not  hard  work,  but  it  tires  her, 
just  because  she  isn't  accustomed  to  it." 


122  RECONCILIATIONS. 

John  took  the  alarm  at  once.  "Mattie  pale!" 
"Doing  work  she  was  not  accustomed  to  !"  And 
he  had  meant  to  guard  her  so  carefully.  He  had 
forgotten  that  she  had  been  tenderly  reared. 
What  selfishness ! 

"  I  didn't  know  she  was  frail,"  he  said.  "  She 
needs  a  servant;  I  must  see  about  it." 

"Servant!"  said  Aunt  Hannah;  "why,  John, 
when  did  you  go  to  calling  help  « servants '  ? 
Well,  she  doesn't  need  a  servant,  then,  and  she 
isn't  frail ;  she  is  healthier  than  most  of  them, 
thanks  to  her  ^ensible  mother,  who  wouldn't  let 
her  lace  herself  to  death.  Martha  wouldn't  want 
to  be  bothered  with  a  girl,  very  likely,  but  she 
needs  looking  after,  that  she  doesn't  take  extra 
burdens  on  herself  and  overdo.  I  suppose  when 
you  want  to  invite  a  brother  minister  you  give 
Martha  notice  beforehand  if  you  can,  and  insist 
on  her  having  a  woman  that  day  to  help  her.  It 
is  these  unexpected  extras  that  break  one's  back. 
You  ought  to  have  a  woman  once  a  week,  too,  to 
clean  up.  People  brought  up  in  a  city  are  not  in 
the  habit  of  doing  such  work.  You've  got  a 
jewel  in  your  wife,  John ;  see  to  it  that  you 
take  care  of  her.  Don't  let  meddlesome  women 
bother  her  and  saddle  her  with  all  the  work  of  the 
church.  It's  best  to  start  out  in  the  right  way. 
Of  course,  she  will  help  all  she  can,  but  they 
might  as  well  understand  that  she  doesn't  belong 


RECONCILIATIONS.  123 

to  the  parish  as  if  they  had  bought  her  and  paid 
for  her.  She  has  spirit  enough  to  take  care  of 
herself  if  you'll  let  her,  and  she  won't  be  impru- 
dent, either.  Don't  be  so  afraid  of  offending  that 
you  give  up  your  self-respect.  Some  folks  need 
to  be  rebuked.  Now,  the  idea  of  those  two 
women  getting  up  that  frightful  bonnet,  and  giv- 
ing it  to  her  because  they  didn't  think  hers  '  suit- 
able ' !  It  ought  to  have  been  sent  straight  back 
to  them.  I  believe  in  doing  the  things  that  make 
for  peace,  but  /when  women  get  to  meddling  like 
that,  it's  a  little  too  much,  and  they  need  a  les- 
son/ Martha's  own  bonnet  looks  like  a  little 
dove,  and  she  ought  not  to  wear  that  old  green 
calabash." 

"Well,  Aunt  Hannah,  I  don't  know,"  John 
said,  as  he  walked  up  and  down ;  "  that  green 
bonnet  is  as  perplexing  a  problem  as  any  that  can 
be  found  in  Euclid.  What  if  Mrs.  Pryor  and 
Mrs.  Pryn  are  so  offended  because  of  her  refusing 
to  wear  it  that  they  leave  the  church  and  raise  a 
breeze.  You  know  Paul  says  we  are  to  be  all 
things  to  all  men." 

"Yes,  but  not  to  all  women,"  Aunt  Hannah 
said,  a  twinkle  in  her  eye ;  "  a  man  could  never 
think  of  half  the  things  that  a  meddlesome 
woman  can.  I  don't  believe  Paul  himself  would 
have  thought  it  his  duty  to  wear  a  bushel  basket 
on  his  head  when  he  went  up  to  the  synagogue, 


124  RECONCILIATIONS. 

even  if  a  couple  of  foolish  women  had  ordered 
him  to.  Humility  is  one  thing,  and  getting  down 
in  the  dust  to  be  walked  over  is  another,  and  not 
required  even  of  a  Christian,  according  to  my  way 
of  thinking.  But  just  yield  once  to  meddling 
with  your  affairs,  and  you'll  have  them  trying  to 
rule  you  in  everything  —  ordering  about  the  cut 
of  your  coats,  and  what  you  shall  have  for  dinner; 
there'll  be  no  end  to  it." 

"Why,  Aunt  Hannah,"  John  said,  surprised 
and  amused;  "I  thought  you  were  one  of  the 
meekest  of  saints,  and  here  you  are  giving  'coun- 
sel the  very  opposite  to  what  I  supposed  you 
would." 

"You  don't  understand  me,  that's  all,"  Aunt 
Hannah  said;  "I'd  do  anything  or  wear  anything 
that  would  help  anybody  ;  but  to  encourage  such 
a  spirit  as  this  is  wrong.  I  don't  mean  that  you 
are  to  say  sharp  things,  or  treat  them  unkindly, 
but  just  go  calmly  on  your  way,  managing  your 
own  affairs  like  any  self-respecting  man  and 
woman.  You  know  Paul  speaks  very  plainly 
about  busybodies.  Now,  who  is  to  check  the 
meddlesome  spirit  of  these  two  busybodies  in 
your  church  if  their  minister  doesn't  ?  You  won't 
always  stay  here.  The  next  minister's  wife  will 
have  a  present  of  their  cast-off  mutton-leg  sleeves, 
too,  and  have  to  endure  their  impertinent  inter- 
ference, if  they  are  not  taught  better." 


RECONCILIATIONS.  12$ 

"And  so  they  will  go  on  to  the  end,  pelting  the 
heads  of  the  long  line  of  my  successors  with 
green  bonnets,"  laughed  John. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  Martha  she  must  go  home 
with  me,"  Aunt  Hannah  said  again.  "She  will 
not,  unless  you  urge  it,  and  you  must  ask  your 
Aunt  Hepsy  if  she  will  keep  house  for  you  awhile. 
She'll  like  it  if  you  ask  her,  and  she  will  likely  get 
tired  of  it,  and  be  ready  to  come  home  by  the 
time  Martha's  visit  is  over." 

"John  says  I  am  to  go  home  with  you  and  stay 
a  whole  fortnight,"  Mattie  said,  putting  her  arms 
about  Aunt  Hannah's  neck  as  she  met  her  on  the 
stairs.  "  Is  that  true  ?  How  good  you  are.  I  do 
love  to  get  out  in  the  country  in  the  spring,  of  all 
times.  If  John  could  only  go,  too,  but  he  can't. 
I  don't  like  to  leave  him  so  long,  although  for  one 
reason  I'm  glad  he  isn't  going,  because  I  want 
you  to  teach  me  to  make  bread,  Aunt  Hannah ; 
will  you?"  dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

Aunt  Hannah  and  Mattie  took  an  early  start 
next  morning,  John  carefully  examining  the  axles, 
wheels  and  harness  the  last  thing,  to  see  that  all 
was  right,  and  giving  various  injunctions  and 
warnings. 

"Hear  the  boy!"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  gathering 
up  the  reins  ;  "I've  jogged  about  the  country  for 
years,  and  I  never  knew  him  to  display  the  least 
anxiety  before.  What  a  difference  it  makes  to 


126  RECONCILIATIONS. 

have  this  stranger  along,  that  two  years  ago  he 
hadn't  laid  eyes  on." 

Aunt  Hannah  did  not  get  the  full  benefit  of  the 
look  those  two  bestowed  on  each  other  then. 
She  was  leaning  over  to  tuck  Mattie's  dress  away 
from  the  wheel.  It  stayed  with  them,  though, 
through  the  days  of  separation. 

Aunt  Hepsy  put  in  a  last  sting  as  they  drove 
away. 

"You'll  take  good  care  of  John,  Aunt  Hepsy, 
won't  you  ? "  said  Mattie. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer;  "I'll  make  him  some 
nice  bread,  salt  rising,  and  I'll  put  the  house  all  to 
rights  —  sweep  down  the  cobwebs,  you  know," 
she  said,  with  a  grim  smile. 

Aunt  Hannah  was  a  poetical  old  woman.  She 
picked  up  a  bit  of  beauty  wherever  it  could  be 
found,  whether  it  was  a  bright-winged  bird,  a 
patch  of  moss  on  a  stone  or  a  fair  young  face. 
She  turned  purposely  now  and  looked  at  Mattie, 
because  she  liked  to  see  the  peach-blossom  color 
leap  into  the  rounded  cheek,  and  her  brown  eyes 
take  on  a  troubled  look  like  a  child's. 

Aunt  Hannah  laughed. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "don't  let  that  trouble 
you  any  more  than  what  that  bird  is  saying," 
pointing  with  her  whip  to  an  ambitious  little  bird 
who  was  screaming  at  the  top  of  his  shrill  voice. 
"Aunt  Hepsy  doesn't  mean  half  as  bad  as  she 


RECONCILIATIONS.  I2/ 

says.  She  just  lets  out  the  first  thing  that  comes 
into  her  head.  Didn't  you  ever  notice  how  she 
will  say  something  that  sounds  real  hateful,  and 
the  next  minute  she  seems  to  be  in  good 
humor? " 

"But  the  bread  is  horrible!"  said  poor  Mattie; 
"and,  Aunt  Hannah,  there  is  a  big  cobweb  in  the 
dining-room.  I  never  think  of  it  only  Sundays 
and  after  I've  gone  to  bed.  I  don't  know  why  it 
is,  but  I  can't  remember  cobwebs.  I  want  you  to 
know  that  my  mother  tried  to  train  me  to  be  neat." 

"  Of  course  she  did,"  said  Aunt  Hannah. 
"And  you  are  neat.  Don't  you  worry.  Young 
housekeepers  can't  think  of  everything  at  first. 
Just  you  drop  your  bread  and  your  cobwebs  and 
worries  of  all  sorts  now,  and  enjoy  this  wonderful 
spring  morning." 

"Such  a  dear  old  auntie!"  Mattie  thought,  as 
she  leaned  back  and  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief; 
then,  starting  up  eagerly,  said  — 

"  Look  at  those  wild  violets  !  Whole  banks  of 
them  !  How  perfectly  lovely !  I  didn't  know 
they  grew  so  near  the  village.  We  haven't  been 
out  in  the  country  since  the  spring  opened." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  take  a  walk  out  as  far  as 
this,  you  and  John,  and  hunt  up  the  wild  flowers." 

"  Why,  we  have  no  time,  Aunt  Hannah,  actu- 
ally. It  seems  as  if  the  housework  and  the  study, 
the  meetings  and  the  calls,  take  every  scrap." 


128  RECONCILIATIONS. 

"  Poor  child !  She  is  so  young  for  all  these 
burdens,"  mused  Aunt  Hannah.  And  then  she 
fell  to  forecasting  the  years,  if  long  years  there 
should  be,  for  this  young  life  by  her  side,  feeling 
weary  herself  as  the  probable  trials  and  crosses 
and  griefs  mapped  themselves  out  before  her. 
None  of  them  appeared  in  her  next  remark, 
though,  as  she  said  — 

"  If  I  were  young  again  I  should  try  to  spend 
at  least  a  few  hours  a  week  amongst  plants  and 
birds  and  trees,  learning  all  that  God  has  for  me 
to  know  in  this  book.  We  shut  ourselves  in  too 
much." 

"I  should  like  it  above  all  things,"  said  Mattie. 
"I've  sometimes  wished  we  had  some  robins  and 
squirrels  for  parishioners.  I  would  cultivate  their 
acquaintance.  See  that  beautiful  yellow-bird  !  I 
never  saw  such  a  bright  one.  Oh,  stop  a  minute 
here,  Aunt  Hannah,  won't  you,  and  let  us  look?" 

It  was  a  bit  of  woods  they  were  passing 
through.  A  log  bridge  spanned  the  little  winding 
brook  that  tinkled  and  gurgled  over  the  stones, 
and  then  lost  itself  between  mossy  tree-trunks 
and  grassy  banks.  Gnarled  limbs  were  decked  in 
tender  green,  and  delicate  ferns  were  unfolding 
feathery  patterns,  while  here  and  there  a  scarlet 
blossom  swayed  in  the  wind.  The  old  woman 
and  the  young  one  gazed  a  moment  in  mute 
delight,  taking  in  every  small  detail  of  the  picture, 


RECONCILIATIONS.  I2Q 

while  each  pointed  out  the  varied  tints,  the  white 
stones  shining  through  the  water,  the  shadows, 
the  net-work  of  branches  overhead,  and  the  cool 
sweetness  of  the  lovely  spot. 

Mattie  began  to  repeat,  half  unconsciously, 
some  lines  from  Whittier's  Psalm  — 

"  The  West  winds  blow,  and,  singing  low, 

I  hear  the  glad  streams  run ; 
-     The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

"  No  longer  forward  nor  behind 

I  look  in  hope  or  fear; 
But,  grateful,  take  the  good  I  find, 
The  best  of  now  and  here." 

"Amen!"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  smiling  lovingly 
into  the  bright  face;  "that  is  good  doctrine." 

"Don't  you  think  it's  strange  that  all  this 
beauty  is  hidden  away  there?"  Mattie  said,  as 
they  drove  on.  "There  are  people  who  would 
pay  a  large  sum  of  money  to  have  that  little  nook 
transferred  to  canvas." 

"The  strange  part  of  it  is  that  more  people 
don't  hunt  up  the  first  pictures  God  made,  with- 
out waiting  to  get  them  on  canvas,  second-hand." 

"But  many  of  them,  Aunt  Hannah,  are  inac- 
cessible. Think  of  all  the  beauty  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean  —  the  gems  and  corals  and  plants; 
and  the  flowers  and  birds  and  trees  in  vast  for- 


130  RECONCILIATIONS. 

ests,  that  seem  wasted.  No  eye  has  ever  seen 
them." 

"None  but  the  eye  of  God.  Don't  you  suppose 
he  takes  pleasure  in  it  all?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that ;  but,  of  course,  he 
must  see  it,  and  how  can  he  help  enjoying  his 
own  perfect  work  ?  I  don't  see  how  a  lily  could 
be  fairer,  or  a  rose  sweeter,  or  the  woods  and 
mountains  and  sea  grander,  if  man  had  never 
fallen.  And  that  reminds  me  that  I  wanted  you 
to  meet  Mrs.  Van  Cleve.  I  have  such  nice  visits 
with  her.  She  has  some  beautiful  ideas  about  the 
world  as  it  was  before  sin  came  into  it.  She 
thinks  the  curse  did  not  extend  to  flowers,  but 
that  they  are  as  beautiful  as  they  ever  were.  She 
reads  a  great  deal,  and  is  so  familiar  with  the 
older  poets  —  Milton,  Wordsworth  and  Gray  — 
that  she  makes  me  blush  for  my  ignorance,  and 
I've  gone  to  reading  them  myself." 

"You  couldn't  do  better,"  said  Aunt  Hannah; 
"but  I'm  glad  you  have  some  nice  people.  I  was 
afraid  they  were  all  Pryors  and  Pryns  and 
Pritchards." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Hannah,  that  is  because  I  grum- 
bled so  much.  Don't  you  think,  John  says  they 
are  our  three  <P's,'  and  we  need  three  <PV  to 
manage  them  —  patience,  perseverance  and  prayer. 
But,  really,  we  have  some  lovely  people.  There's 
Mrs.  Dean,  that  pale  little  lady  dressed  in  gray, 


RECONCILIATIONS.  13! 

who  sat  up  in  front.  She's  a  dear  saint,  with  her 
heart  in  heaven.  She  really  does  live  her  profes- 
sion. Mrs.  Kendrick,  too,  is  so  good.  She's  the 
large,  fine-looking  lady,  with  gray  puffs.  She's  a 
perfect  mother  to  us,  always  sending  us  things. 
Her  character  is  lovely,  too.  She  never  speaks 
an  unkind  word  of  anybody.  I  covet  such  a 
name  as  thaty  The  Hammonds  live  in  the  large 
brick  house  not  far  from  the  church.  They  are 
well-off,  but  you  would  never  know  it  except  by  the 
amount  they  give  away.  They're  both  as  plain 
and  humble  as  possible.  Mrs.  Swift  is  another 
good  woman,  and  one  of  my  intimate  friends. 
She  is  Scotch,  and  so  devout  and  faithful.  She 
tells  me  long,  pleasant  stories  in  the  quaintest 
fashion.  Then,  there's  an  old  couple  by  the 
name  of  Mills,  who  live  out  half  a  mile.  They 
are  both  so  nice,  and  they  love  us  as  if  we  were 
their  own  children.  They  are  poor,  and  her  fin- 
gers are  all  bent  up  with  rheumatism,  but  at 
Christmas  she  made  me  a  work-box,  covered  with 
chintz,  with  a  pocket  for  thread  and  a  place  for 
needles.  The  sewing  is  in  little,  fine  stitches. 
It's  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  I  ever  received. 
Oh,  we  have  some  perfectly  royal  people,  and  we 
love  them  dearly.  I'm  so  thankful  that  I'm  a 
minister's  wife.  I  wouldn't  change  places  with 
anybody  else,  not  for  anything.  I  tell  John  we'll 
just  stay  right  there  always,  and  work  and  grow 


132  RECONCILIATIONS. 

up  with  the  people.  Don't  you  think  that  is 
best  ? " 

Aunt  Hannah  said,  "I  guess  so,"  rather 
absently.  Her  thoughts  turned  to  her  own 
pastor.  There  were  murmurings  in  the  air  which 
threatened  to  separate  him  from  them.  She 
almost  said —  "Poor  child!  Don't  be  too  sure  of 
anything.  Your  John  may  be  asked  to  leave  at 
the  end  of  another  year."  But  she  kept  it  to  her- 
self. She  would  not  repress  the  enthusiasm  of 
this  earnest  young  wife. 

"Then  you  enjoy  your  work?"  was  all  she  did 
say. 

"Oh,  so  much!  I  have  a  class  of  girls  from 
the  factory.  I  love  them,  and  they  love  me. 
They  meet  with  me  one  evening  a  week,  beside 
Sabbath  lesson,  and  all  the  young  people  seem 
interested.  Oh,  I  love  my  work,  and  I  should  be 
perfectly  happy  in  it  if  just  a  few  people  could  be 
weeded  out,  and  if  I  could  make  splendid  bread. 
I  ought  to  be  happy,  if  anybody,  with  such  a 
good  husband.  John's  the  very  best  man  in  the 
world." 

"I  s'pose  so,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  smiling, 
while  she  unchecked  Dolly,  that  she  might  take  a 
long  drink  of  the  limpid  water  that  flowed  into  a 
mossy  drinking-trough  by  the  roadside. 


MORAL   EVOLUTION.  133 


CHAPTER  X. 


MORAL     EVOLUTION. 

AUNT  Hepsy  sat  opposite  her  nephew  at  the 
dinner-table,  and  bit  generous  pieces  from 
her  biscuit  in  grim  satisfaction.  The  biscuits 
were  not  very  good ;  Aunt  Hepsy  was  not  used 
to  baking-powder,  and  there  had  been  some  diffi- 
culty about  the  flour  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand. The  result  was  heavy  biscuits ;  but  Aunt 
Hepsy  had  made  them,  and  you  may  have  noticed 
that  it  is  much  easier  for  some  people  to  eat 
and  enjoy  that  which  they  themselves  evolved, 
even  though  it  is  not  perfect,  than  it  is  for  them 
to  bear  with  composure  the  failures  of  others. 

"They  are  not  sour,  at  any  rate,"  their  maker 
said  to  herself,  with  a  nod  of  approval. 

Truth  to  tell,  Aunt  Hepsy  was  very  well  satis- 


134  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

fied  with  the  present  state  of  affairs.  She  had 
always  rather  fancied  "John"  —  though  as  a  boy 
he  would  have  been  surprised  to  have  been  told 
so  —  and  she  had  been  a  housekeeper  in  her 
own  home  for  nearly  forty  years.  What  won- 
der that  she  missed  the  privilege  of  doing  exactly 
as  she  pleased,  with  none  to  gainsay  or  question  ? 
Not  having  lived  with  her  sister  Hannah  since 
the  two  were  girls  in  the  old  home,  she  had  fan- 
cied that  it  would  be  a  place  where  she  could 
hold  at  least  partial  sway.  It  had  not  taken  a 
month's  residence  to  convince  her  that  Aunt 
Hannah  —  low-voiced,  quiet  in  movement,  calm 
in  manner  —  had  ways  of  her  own,  and  abided 
in  them ;  and  that  Dorcas  was  simply  solid  rock 
when  one  came  in  contact  with  her  methods. 
Aunt  Hepsy  had  chafed  a  good  deal  over  it; 
had  declared  to  herself  that  she  couldn't  "stand" 
it;  that  she  would  go  away  and  hire  a  little 
house  of  her  own,  and  be  independent.  But 
some  way,  whenever  she  thought  of  that  little 
house  it  came  into  unpleasant  contrast  with  Han- 
nah's roomy,  breezy  one ;  and  the  things  which 
Dorcas  and  her  brother  did  for  even  Aunt 
Hepsy's  comfort  were  so  numerous  as  to  make 
her  realize  that  she  should  miss  them  unpleas- 
antly. On  the  whole,  she  preferred  John's  house, 
especially  with  Martha  well  out  of  it,  and  John  to 
do  whatever  she  wanted  done. 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  135 

"  He,  at  least,  would  do  as  he  was  told,"  Aunt 
Hepsy  said,  and  believed  it. 

Elderly  woman  though  she  was,  she  had  very 
little  real  acquaintance  with  human  nature ;  and  a 
man  who  kept  his  face  without  frowns  and  his 
voice  low ; — even  pleasant — under  trying  circum- 
stances, was  one,  in  her  judgment,  to  be  easily 
led.  Had  not  poor,  dear  Joab  been  of  that  same 
temperament.  The  only  thing  the  good  man  had 
done  in  forty  years  contrary  to  her  expressed  will 
had  been  to  die.  She  did  him  the  credit  of 
believing  that  he  could  not  help  that. 

I  do  not  mean  to  be  sarcastic ;  I  do  not  want 
you  to  get  a  wrong  impression  of  poor  Aunt 
Hepsy.  She  had  not  made  her  husband's  life  an 
unhappy  one.  She  sincerely  missed  and  mourned 
him.  To  have  the  ordering  of  a  house  again  with 
no  womankind  to  dispute  her  sway,  was  a  positive 
joy  to  her  poor  old  heart.  She  was  a  trifle  vexed 
with  Martha,  it  is  true,  but  she  meant  only  good 
to  her,  nevertheless.  She  would  manage  things 
with  such  skill  that  the  ignorant  child,  when  her 
visit  was  ended,  would  open  her  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment and  delight  over  the  changes  which  had 
been  wrought. 

"Even  the  dishcloth  isn't  hung  where  it  ought 
to  be  to  be  handy,"  she  said,  with  suppressed 
energy,  as  she  clashed  about  the  small  kitchen 
after  the  travelers  were  gone. 


136  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

The  morning  was  a  busy  one,  and  Aunt  Hepsy, 
when  she  met  her  nephew  at  the  dinner-table,  was 
triumphant.  Not  a  thing  in  that  kitchen  or  din- 
ing-room occupied  the  place  it  had  held  in  the 
morning. 

"Well,  Aunt  Hepsy,"  said  John,  with  cheery 
voice  and  manner,  "this  seems  like  old  times." 

As  he  spoke  he  suppressed  with  resolute  will  a 
sigh  over  the  newer  times  so  suddenly  vanished, 
and  told  himself  sternly  that  it  was  absurd  for  a 
man  to  be  such  a  simpleton  as  to  have  an  absolute 
longing  for  the  sight  of  a  fair,  flushed  face,  framed 
in  brown  hair,  and  some  brown  eyes  that  had 
looked  brightly  at  him  from  across  this  little  table 
only  a  few  hours  ago. 

"  It  isn't  as  though  there  were  to  be  months  of 
separation,"  he  continued,  treating  himself  to  a 
very  severe  rebuke.  "  She  will  be  here  again  in 
a  little  while,  and  she  will  be  here  forever.  You 
are  a  selfish  idiot,  to  feel  desolate  over  so  short  a 
separation.  It  is  your  duty  to  make  Aunt  Hepsy 
have  as  good  a  time  as  you  can.  Her  'good 
times'  are  scarce." 

The  "old  times"  to  which  he  had  referred 
meant  a  never-to-be-forgotten  summer  which  he 
spent  in  Aunt  Hepsy's  home  when  a  rollicking 
boy  of  seventeen;  Aunt  Hannah  in  the  mean- 
time being  laid  aside  with  a  sprained  ankle. 

"  It  is  many  a  year  since  we  sat   down  alone 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  137 

together,"  he  added,  bent  on  staying  among  those 
safe  old  times. 

"Yes,"  said  .Aunt  Hepsy,  with  a  sigh.  "There 
have  been  a  great  many  changes  since  then ;  but 
I'm  glad  of  a  chance  to  make  you  comfortable 
once  more,  if  I  haven't  any  house  of  my  own  to 
do  it  in." 

This  was  lugubrious.    He  must  get  away  from  it. 

"I'm  afraid  you  found  a  good  deal  to  do  this 
morning,"  he  said,  kindly.  In  his  heart  was  the 
thought  of  how  she  must  have  missed  the  brisk 
young  steps  and  the  deft  and  skillful  fingers  of  his 
wife,  who  seemed  always  to  move  with  such  grace 
and  ease. 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Hepsy,  "I  expected  that,  of 
course,  when  I  consented  to  stay.  I  had  in  mind 
putting  things  to  rights,  and  I've  begun  it.  They 
need  it,  I  must  say !  You  didn't  think  anything 
about  housekeeping  when  you  picked  out  a  wife ; 
now  that's  a  fact." 

"No,"  said  the  minister,  with  dignity,  "I  did 
not." 

He  wanted  to  add  that  he  thought  there  were 
much  more  important  qualifications  for  wives 
even  than  the  ability  to  keep  house.  As  to  that, 
any  woman  with  brains  and  good  health  could 
compass  it  in  time,  and  his  wife  kept  house  quite 
well  enough  for  him,  and  was  really  a  marvel  in 
some  respects.  Aunt  Hannah  said  so,  and  who 


138  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

should  know  if  she  didn't  ?  All  of  this  he  kept  to 
himself,  finding  it  required  a  strong  will  to  do  so. 

"What  is  the  use?"  he  said,  still  to  that  trust- 
worthy person  —  himself.  "Aunt  Hepsy  is  Aunt 
Hepsy,  and  will  be  until  the  end  of  the  chap- 
ter. And  my  sensitive  little  Mattie  is  not  here  to 
be  hurt ;  and  she  will  be  here  in  thirteen  and  a 
half  more  days.  I  can  endure  it,  surely,  until 
then." 

Aunt  Hepsy  took  another  bite  of  biscuit ;  her 
satisfaction  was  increasing. 

"  I  don't  wonder  her  meals  were  always  late," 
she  said.  "The  wonder  is  she  ever  got  'em 
ready.  Nothing  in  the  house  in  place ;  that  is,  in 
the  place  where  it  ought  to  be.  That's  about 
half  the  battle  in  housekeeping.  What  kind  of 
folks  can  she  have  had  to  start  her  out  in  life 
without  any  training  ? " 

"Her  mother  has  been  an  invalid  since  Mattie 
was  sixteen,"  John  said,  gently.  "A  beautiful, 
patient  sufferer ;  not  able  to  take  a  step,  but  the 
light  and  comfort  of  the  home." 

Quite  a  little  more  he  said,  in  the  same  line, 
resolved  upon  enlisting  Aunt  Hepsy's  sympathy 
for  the  fair  girl  whom  he  had  taken  from  such  a 
home  and  such  a  mother,  out  into  the  world 
among  strangers.  He  closed  with  the  sentence  — 

"  Mattie  was  her  mother's  housekeeper  for  two 
years  before  her  marriage ;  though  of  course  she 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  139 

had  her  mother's  judgment  and  advice  to  depend 
upon." 

"Humph!"  said  Aunt  Hepsy;  "poor  depend- 
ence, I  should  say  ;  folks  not  able  to  take  any 
steps  don't  amount  to  much  in  housekeeping. 
She  might  have  been  glad,  though,  that  she  could 
not  look  into  her  kitchen  and  closets ;  I  dare  say 
it  would  have  made  her  sick.  Give  me  anything 
but  a  young  girl  to  tuck  away  things  anywhere, 
and  call  places  cleared  up." 

Then  John  felt  his  eyes  flash  a  little,  as  the 
brown  ones  might  have  done.  He  held  his  lips 
resolutely  closed.  What  next  ?  He  must  get 
away  from  that  subject. 

"What  new  things  are  they  doing  in  the  church, 
Aunt  Hepsy?  Aunt  Hannah  made  so  short  a 
visit  I  had  no  time  to  talk  it  over  with  her  as  I 
usually  do." 

"Trying  to  get  rid  of  their  minister,"  said  Aunt 
Hepsy,  promptly.  "Though  I  dunno  as  that  is 
a  new  thing;  one  of  the  members  told  me  they 
had  wanted  a  change  for  years.  I  guess  they'll 
starve  him  out  next ;  they  are  having  dreadful 
times  to  raise  his  salary.  The  last  thing  they  did 
was  to  have  a  supper ;  have  everything  under  the 
sun  to  eat  and  drink^  and  charge  a  dollar  a  couple 
for  supper,  but  it  wasn't  a  success.  That  reminds 
me,  I  guess  they  are  going  to  do  some  such  way 
here  to  raise  your  salary.  I  heard  that  Mrs. 


140  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

Pryn  talking  with  Martha  over  the  fence  about  it 
this  morning,  before  she  started." 

"I  sincerely  hope  and  trust  they  will  not,"  John 
said,  his  face  glooming  over  instantly. 

"Why  not  ? "  sharply  ;  "  they  don't  pay  you  any 
too  regular,  I  should  judge,  by  what  I  overheard 
her  say.  I  should  think  you  would  want  some- 
thing done  to  help  things  out." 

*'  I  do  not  believe  in  any  such  method  of  doing 
it.  If  the  Lord's  ambassadors  are  not  worthy  of 
their  hire,  and  of  having  it  paid  in  a  regular  man- 
ner, as  any  other  obligation  would  be  met,  they 
would  better  send  them  away  and  get  others 
whom  they  are  willing  to  treat  with  that  degree 
of  respect.  It  would  be  humiliating  to  think 
that  the  people  were  willing  to  pay  their  pastor's 
salary  only  by  a  road  through  their  stomachs.  I 
do  not  believe  my  people  will  ever  do  it ;  they 
have  too  much  respect  for  the  office,  if  not  for 
the  man." 

Said  Aunt  Hepsy  —  " Oh,  fudge!  That  seems 
to  me  like  riding  a  high  horse;  you  may  get 
bounced  off  before  you  know  it.  Your  people  are 
just  like  other  people,  I  dare  say.  They've  got 
to  raise  the  money  for  you,  and  they  don't  know 
how  on  earth  to  do  it ;  if  they  can  eat  it  out  of 
folks,  they'll  do  that,  you  may  depend  upon  it." 

"I  trust  not,"  with  increasing  firmness;  "I 
can  take  less  salary  if  it  shall  seem  to  be  neces- 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  14! 

sary,  though  it  is  certainly  not  large  now,  and  we 
live  as  Mattie  has  never  been  accustomed  to  live ; 
still,  we  are  willing,  and  more  than  willing,  if  that 
be  necessary ;  but  I  am  sure  neither  Mattie  nor 
I  could  submit  to  such  a  method  of  raising  what 
is  our  due." 

Foolish  John !  So  wise  but  a  moment  before 
in  regard  to  his  wife's  kitchen,  so  idiotic  now; 
presenting  objections  born  of  scruples  which  the 
woman  opposite  him  no  more  understood  than  did 
the  little  brown  tea-pot  beside  her.  Somewhat 
chafed  she  was,  too,  by  John's  decided  disap- 
proval. Had  she  not  heartily  espoused  the  move- 
ment in  her  sister's  church,  and  argued  that 
Hannah,  who  had  almost  a  son  of  her  own  for 
whom  salaries  had  got  to  be  raised,  ought  to  be 
more  active  in  it  ?  Had  she  not  stood  in  a  hot 
little  curtained-off  closet  and  poured  coffee  and 
tea  until  her  back  ached,  and  felt  that  she  was 
doing  God  service?  It  was  certainly  very  disa- 
greeable to  have  a  minister,  and  her  own  nephew 
at  that,  speak  in  such  a  disparaging  way  of  the 
work. 

Mrs.  Hannah  Adams,  blessed  woman  that  she 
was,  prided  herself  just  a  little  bit  on  her  skill  in 
managing  people ;  prided  herself  on  this  very  bit 
of  management  which  had  resulted  in  carrying 
her  new  niece,  Martha,  off  to  the  farm,  to  be 
petted  and  rested,  and  taught  all  manner  of  deft- 


142  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

handedness  which  should  tell  for  John's  future 
comfort,  while  her  slightly  cross-grained  sister 
remained  behind  to  be  soothed  into  good  humor 
and  propriety  of  behavior  by  John,  who  always 
got  along  so  beautifully  with  everybody. 

Bless  her  dear  old  benevolent  heart !  As  she 
let  Dolly  jog  quietly  along,  and  poured  out  the 
treasures  of  her  wise,  sweet  experience  for  the 
young  wife's  help,  could  she  have  imagined  a 
tithe  of  the  mischief  which  was  brewing  in  the 
little  parsonage  so  recently  left  behind,  she  would 
have  turned  Dolly's  head  around  and  trotted 
back  before  the  afternoon's  sun  was  low. 

Not  that  Aunt  Hepsy  meant  mischief;  the 
worst  mischief  this  world  knows  anything  about 
is  begun  by  the  men  and  women  who  mean  noth- 
ing but  dullness  or  outspokenness ;  or,  at  the 
worst,  a  passing  outburst  of  irritability. 

Aunt  Hepsy  was  vexed,  and  John,  in  the  fur- 
ther attempts  at  conversation  which  were  made, 
failed  to  soothe  her.  In  fact,  she  had  succeeded 
in  depressing  him.  He  told  himself  it  was 
because  he  missed  Mattie  that  he  was  so  readily 
cast  down  by  what  Aunt  Hepsy  had  said  ;  that  he 
wasn't  used  to  doing  without  her;  that  she  had 
the  rare  power  of  saying  just  the  right  things  at 
the  dinner-table  and  elsewhere,  and  that  two 
weeks  was  a  very  long  time,  after  all. 

Very  busy  was  Aunt  Hepsy  all  the  long,  bright 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  143 

afternoon ;  she  omitted  her  usual  afternoon  nap 
for  want  of  time,  and  was  perhaps  more  careless 
of  her  words  on  that  account  than  she  might 
otherwise  have  been.  It  was  nearly  tea-time 
when  Mrs.  Pryn  dropped  in  to  see  if  she  would 
like  a  little  fresh  gingerbread  for  the  minister's 
supper. 

"I  knew  you  were  alone,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  condition  Mrs.  Remington  might  have  left 
you  in  ;  going  off  on  Monday  morning  so,  and  she 
a  young  housekeeper." 

"  Oh,  I've  been  at  work,"  said  Aunt  Hepsy, 
grimly.  "I  haven't  baked  gingerbread,  it  is  true; 
but  I  have  done  most  everything  else  under  the 
sun.  I  haven't  sat  down  before  to-day,  only  at 
dinner."  And  she  wiped  a  streak  of  flour  from 
her  chin  with  her  apron. 

"I  thought  you  would  have  your  hands  full," 
said  Mrs.  Pryn.  "I  said  to  Maria  that  I  had  half 
a  mind  to  come  in  and  offer  to  help  ;  I  saw  all  the 
windows  up,  you  know,  and  heard  sweeping  going 
on.  It  beats  all  what  a  sight  of  work  there  is  to 
do  even  in  a  small  house  like  this." 

"  Small  houses  are  the  worst,"  said  Aunt  Hepsy 
with  energy.  This  was  one  of  her  old  grievances. 
Let  Mrs.  Pryn  but  differ  with  her  the  least  in  the 
world  on  the  sore  subject,  and  she  would  have 
been  angry  with  her  in  less  than  a  twinkling,  in 
which  case  the  general  interests  of  society  might 


144  MORAL    EVOLUTION. 

have  been  conversed,  for  the  time  being,  at  least ; 
but  no,  Mrs.  Pryn  agreed  with  her  that  it  took  a 
pattern  housekeeper  to  keep  a  small  house  in 
order ;  or  else  things  got  the  upper  hand. 

"The  upper  hand!"  said  Aunt  Hepsy ;  "I 
should  think  they  did !  If  you  could  have  seen 
the  number  of  things  tucked  into  that  closet  out 
there  under  the  sink !  I've  had  them  all  out,  and 
scrubbed  the  closet  on  my  hands  and  knees.  It 
wasn't  very  dirty,  to  be  sure  —  the  things  were 
clean ;  but  then,  I  can't  get  along  without  taking 
soap  and  water  to  places  that  I  go  over.  She 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  them,  I  suppose ;  no 
more  do  I.  I  had  to  put  the  most  of  them  back 
again,  because  there  was  no  other  place.  The 
house  is  too  full ;  a  hundred  and  fifty  nick-nacks 
that  she  brought  with  her  from  her  city  home,  and 
they  don't  fit  in  here,  of  course,  only  to  clutter 
up." 

"She  is  very  young  to  have  all  the  responsi- 
bility that  rests  upon  her,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Too  young  altogether;  that's  what  I  told 
John  at  the  time.  I  said  a  man  had  no  right  to 
bring  a  woman  a  day  younger  than  twenty-five  to 
look  after  a  house  and  take  all  the  duties  of^  a 
minister's  wife  on  her  shoulders.  But  what  was 
the  use  of  talking  ?  These  young  things  think 
they  know  everything  in  the  world.  All  he  did 


MORAL    EVOLUTION.  '145 

was  to  laugh  at  me  and  ask  what  was  going  to  be 
done  when  the  wife  he  had  chosen  refused  to  be  a 
day  over  twenty." 

"Is  that  her  age?  I've  often  wondered.  Dear 
me !  Twenty,  and  expected  to  lead  the  meetings, 
and  cut  out  work  at  the  society,  and  call  on  the 
sick,  and  I  don't  know  what  not !  It  is  a  pity,  for 
your  nephew's  sake,  that  she  hadn't  had  a  little 
experience  in  some  direction,  isn't  it  ?  I  suppose 
she  didn't  know  what  work  was  in  her  own 
home." 

"Work!  She  doesn't  know  what  work  is  now, 
and  never  will ;  takes  things  easy,  you  know. 
When  I  came  the  other  day  it  was  after  ten 
o'clock,  and  the  sink  was  piled  full  of  dishes ;  act- 
ually left  over  from  the  dinner  before !  That  will 
tell  you  how  much  the  child  knows.  Not  that 
she  is  to  blame  for  it ;  she  has  never  been 
taught.  Her  mother  was  one  of  the  sickly  kind, 
always  in  bed ;  and  they  had  servants,  of  course, 
and  Martha  for  housekeeper!  I'd  like  to  have 
seen  the  house  she  kept !  I  said  to  my  nephew 
to-day  —  'You  never  thought  about  housekeeping 
when  you  picked  out  a  wife,  did  you  ? '  And  he 
drew  a  long  sigh  and  said — 'No,  he  didn't.' 
Poor  boy ;  he's  nothing  but  a  boy  himself.  Barely 
twenty-five  when  they  were  married.  Two  young 
things  playing  at  living.  It  is  enough  to  make 
one  sick  !  John  never  was  one  to  get  along  with 


146  MORAL     EVOLUTION. 

any  too  well,  I  guess,  either.  My  sister  Hannah 
brought  him  up,  and  she  is  peculiar  herself,  if  I 
am  her  sister.  Iron  will,  you  know;  everybody 
must  bend  to  her ;  I  didn't  know  John  was  of  that 
stamp,  but  I  guess  he  is.  I  haven't  known  him 
very  well  for  the  last  eight  or  ten  years ;  but  I 
can  see  that  he  has  grown  a  great  deal  like  his 
Aunt  Hannah.  Well,  he's  had  his  own  way  in 
life  so  far,  and  he  must  abide  by  it.  I'm  glad  he 
will  have  some  gingerbread  for  his  supper,  and 
some  decent  bread.  I  made  bread  to-day  with  all 
the  rest.  Well,  not  exactly  bread  —  there  hasn't 
been  time  for  that  —  but  biscuit  that  isn't  sour; 
and  that's  a  comfort  in  this  house." 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  147 


CHAPTER    XI. 


"DON  T    REPEAT    IT. 

I  THOUGHT  at  first  your  niece  was  sick  on 
Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn.  "  He  came  rush- 
ing into  church  without  her,  looking  sort  of  pale 
and  worried,  I  thought ;  I  whispered  to  Maria  that 
she  must  be  sick;  then,  when  Mrs.  Peters'  baby 
cried  so,  and  I  looked  around  and  saw  her  sit- 
ting over  by  the  door,  I  was  beat.  I  suppose  it 
was  your  sister's  coming  that  hindered  her." 

"No,  it  wasn't.  She  didn't  know  anything 
about  my  sister's  coming  until  after  John  and  I 
were  gone  to  church.  She  was  late;  she  gener- 
ally is.  Of  all  habits  for  a  minister's  wife,  I 
think  that's  the  worst ;  so  hard  on  him,  because 
he's  got  to  be  on  hand  whether  any  of  his 
congregation  are  dressed  yet  or  not.  Martha 
tries  him  a  good  deal  that  way,  I  guess.  He 


148  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

spoke  up  Sunday  as  sharp  as  a  thorn  about 
it,  and  went  off  with  me,  leaving  her  up-stairs 
prinking. 

"  Hannah  wouldn't  have  hindered  anybody. 
She's  on  time,  Hannah  is ;  she's  worse  than  the 
sun.  What  beat  me  was  her  getting  here  on 
Sunday;  she's  a  dreadful  stickler  for  Sunday; 
but  she  broke  down  about  three  miles  from  here, 
and  stayed  all  night  at  a  farm-house ;  then  they 
brought  her  in  to  church.  She  wasn't  going  to 
stop  here  at  all,  but  she  saw  the  front  door  open. 
John  left  it  open  for  his  wife,  but  it's  my  opin- 
ion she  wouldn't  have  come  a  step  if  Hannah 
hadn't  arrived.  The  plain  truth  is,  she  got  put 
out  on  Sunday,  and  had  a  crying  fit,  I  s'pose. 
Her  eyes  were  as  red  as  beets ;  she's  nothing  but 
a  child,  you  see.  The  way  she  came  to  be  late 
was  because  she  took  a  notion  to  can  some  fruit." 

"  Can  fruit !     Not  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"Well,  cook  'em  over,  you  know  —  she  took  a 
notion  they  were  spoiling;  but  I  guess  they'd 
have  waited  till  Monday.  That's  just  like  a  young 
thing;  they  always  know  everything,  to  begin 
with.  I  offended  her,  I  suppose;  I  spoke  out 
before  I  thought,  and  wondered  what  Hannah 
would  say  to  such  goings-on.  Hannah  brought 
John  up  to  be  real  notional  about  Sunday ;  worse 
than  me,  a  good  deal,  and  I'm  strict  enough.  So 
when  I  spoke  my  mind  without  a  thought  of 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  149 

doing  any  harm,  she  flared  up  and  spoke  as  saucy 
as  you  please.  I  told  John  I  thought  he  had 
looked  out  for  a  wife  with  a  temper  of  her  own, 
anyhow.  I  dare  say  he  had  a  talk  with  her  about 
the  way  she  had  treated  me,  and  that  is  what  upset 
her,  likely.  They  had  some  kind  of  a  tiff,  I'm 
sure,  because  they  were  so  dreadfully  nice  to  each 
other  the  rest  of  the  day.  A  couple  of  children  !  " 

Aunt  Hepsy  laughed  a  not  unpleasant  laugh. 
She  thought  she  was  simply  repeating  little  inter- 
esting items. 

"I  was  disappointed  on  Sunday,  I  must  say" 
—  this  from  Mrs.  Pryn,  when  she  recovered  from 
her  surprise  sufficiently  to  speak  again.  "  Woman 
fashion,  I  was  looking  out  for  a  new  bonnet ;  I 
heard  that  our  minister's  wife  had  a  present  of 
one  on  Friday ;  and  when  that  little  gray  and 
white  thing  came  to  church  again  I  was  greatly 
disappointed." 

"A  new  bonnet?"  echoed  Aunt  Hepsy,  look- 
ing interested.  "  Why,  I  guess  not ;  I  didn't 
hear  anything  of  it.  Who  could  have  sent  her 
one  ?  Hannah,  didn't,  for  now  I  think  of  it,  I 
heard  her  tell  her  only  this  morning  that  the  gray 
bonnet  was  exactly  the  thing  for  her  face,  shape 
and  color  and  all." 

"There  was  a  new  bonnet  sent  in,  I'm  positive," 
said  Mrs.  Pryn,  nodding  her  head;  "because  I 
heard  it  from  a  source  that  couldn't  have  been 


150  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

mistaken.  I  don't  like  the  gray  bonnet  myself;  I 
don't  think  it's  appropriate  to  a  minister's  wife, 
and  I  hoped  she  would  wear  the  new  one ;  in  fact, 
I  thought,  of  course,  she  would,  out  of  respect  to 
the  givers." 

"She  wouldn't,"  said  Aunt  Hepsy,  decidedly; 
"not  if  she  didn't  take  a  notion.  She  has  a  mind 
of  her  own  as  well  as  the  next  one.  Maybe  it 
was  a  new  bonnet  they  were  talking  about 
this  morning;  there  was  some  nonsense  about 
her  wearing  a  coal-hod,  and  about  green  being 
suited  to  her  complexion.  I  didn't  understand  it, 
and  I  don't  now.  It  couldn't  have  been  about  a 
bonnet,  either ;  for  there  was  a  good  deal  of  gig- 
gling over  '  mutton-leg  sleeves  '  and  '  smoothing- 
irons,'  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  I  know  I 
thought  they  acted  rather  silly  for  grown  people, 
let  alone  ministers'  folks ;  and  Hannah  was  as  bad 
as  they.  But  it  couldn't  have  had  to  do  with  a 
bonnet." 

Yes,  it  could ;  Mrs.  Pryn  understood  perfectly 
—  mutton-legs,  smoothing-irons  and  all;  two  angry 
red  spots  glowed  on  her  sallow  cheeks. 

"It  wasn't  a  very  Christian  way  of  receiving  a 
present,  anyhow,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Aunt  Hepsy,  bri- 
dling; it  was  one  thing  for  her  to  criticise  her 
niece  and  nephew,  and  quite  another  to  hear  any 
one  else  do  so. 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  151 

"  If  it  was  about  a  bonnet,  unless  it  was  some- 
thing very  elegant,  which  she  doesn't  need  back 
here  in  a  country  village,  or  unless  it  was  from 
some  ignorant  body  who  didn't  know  what  else  to 
do  to  show  her  good  will,  I  should  say  it  was  a 
piece  of  impertinence.  Her  bonnet  is  well 
enough,  I'm  sure ;  and  folks  like  to  use  their 
own  tastes,  if  they  have  any.  Mercy  knows  there 
are  things  enough  that  people  can  send  their  min- 
ister without  going  into  bonnets !  Though  for 
the  matter  of  that,  I  don't  know  but  they  would 
rather  it  would  be  bonnets  than  marble-cake. 
You  never  saw  such  a  sight  of  marble-cake  as 
gets  into  this  house !  There  are  two  jars  in  the 
pantry  this  minute  full  of  it;  and  neither  John 
nor  Martha  touch  it.  I  overheard  him  telling  her 
only  this  morning  that  she  might  find  the  walk 
out  to  the  hen-house  paved  with  marble  when  she 
came  back  ;  and  she  giggled  right  out  and  said  — 
'  Marble-cake !  That's  a  good  idea,  John ;  it's 
almost  hard  enough.  I  don't  believe  some  fam- 
ilies in  this  village  can  have  anything  else  to  live 
on,  they  make  so  much  of  it.' " 

Silly  Aunt  Hepsy  !  Just  simply  silly,  not  mali- 
cious. She  had  lived  for  twenty-five  years  in  the 
same  neighborhood,  and  been  used  to  speaking 
her  mind  freely  on  all  occasions ;  and  the  people 
had  grown  used  to  her,  and  had  learned  to  say  — 
"  Never  mind,  it  is  only  Aunt  Hepsy,"  or, 


152  DON  T    REPEAT    IT. 

"What's  the  use  of  noticing  it?  Mrs.  Joab  Stone 
must  talk,  and  Joab  and  we  must  endure  it." 
Aunt  Hepsy  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  being  a 
mischief-maker.  Silly  young  husband  and  wife 
not  to  remember  that  walls,  or  at  least  indiscreet 
aunts,  had  ears !  There  were  women  in  that 
large  country  church  to  whom  it  would  have  done 
no  harm  at  all  to  repeat  the  foolish  words  about 
the  marble-cake.  Mrs.  Pryn  was  not  one  of 
them ;  she  did  not  send  marble-cake  to  the  par- 
sonage herself,  but  she  knew  just  exactly  who  did, 
and  was  indignant  for  them. 

"Well,"  she  said,  drawing  her  little  black 
shoulder-shawl  about  her  as  though  she  might  be 
preparing  to  go,  "I'm  sorry,  I'm  sure,  if  our  gifts 
do  not  please  them ;  we  are  only  common  country 
people  and  can  not  be  expected  to  understand  city 
folks,  I  s'pose.  These  are  pretty  hard  times, 
though,  and  some  people  would  be  glad  even  of 
marble-cake  as  a  help  toward  living.  I  don't 
know  how  we  are  going  to  raise  our  pastor's  sal- 
ary this  year,  I'm  sure;  we  are  having  hard  work 
and  a  good  deal  of  it.  Mr.  Pryn  is  about  discour- 
aged. The  Jenkins'  won't  give  a  cent,  and  they've 
always  been  liberal.  It  was  their  uncle  who  died 
so  suddenly  last  week,  and  Mr.  Remington  didn't 
say  a  word  at  the  funeral  about  him ;  they  didn't 
like  it,  poor  things.  You  can't  blame  them  ;  they 
have  feelings,  and  they  set  great  store  by  him,  if 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  153 

he  was  a  hard  old  man ;  he  was  never  hard 
to  them.  Then,  there  are  the  Ferrands,  kind  of 
stuffy  because  the  minister  doesn't  call  on  them 
oftener.  Mr.  Pryn  says  if  he  doesn't  go  there 
pretty  soon,  and  take  her  along  too,  he  doesn't 
believe  they'll  pay  their  subscriptions.  And 
there's  quite  a  number  of  other  influential  folks 
who  are  sort  of  out  with  him  for  one  thing  and 
another.  I  tell  Mr.  Pryn  that  the  great  difficulty 
is,  we  are  not  social  enough.  A  young  minister  is 
so  bound  up  in  himself  and  his  wife  and  his  home, 
somehow,  that  he  forgets  his  social  duties.  I 
want  to  have  a  large  gathering  —  a  regular  din- 
ner—  only  have  it  in  the  evening,  and  get  every- 
body out  and  give  them  a  chance  to  get  acquaint- 
ed with  the  minister's  wife ;  she  will  never  get 
around  to  them  in  all  the  world.  They  only  made 
twenty  calls  last  week,  I  counted  'em  myself ;  and 
what  is  that  in  a  parish  of  this  size  ?  I  tell  Mr. 
Pryn  that  the  way  we've  got  to  manage  is  to  do 
their  calling  for  them;  get^the  people  together 
and  make  them  visit  them.  Then  we  could  charge 
a  good  round  price  for  the  dinner  and  use  the 
money  to  pay  the  minister's  salary.  He  can  afford 
to  be  sociable,  then,  for  he  will  know  that  every 
word  he  speaks  is  helping  his  own  pocket  along." 

"That's  just  where  you  are  mistaken,"  said 
Mrs.  Hepsy  Stone.  Now  that  the  idea  was  put 
into  bold  language  by  another,  she  found  that  she 


1 54  DON  T    REPEAT    IT. 

did  not  like  it  so  well  as  she  had  supposed.  "  He 
won't  hear  to  any  such  thing.  I  was  talking  to 
him  about  it  this  very  day,  and  he  was  quite 
fierce.  Said  if  people  couldn't  pay  their  minister 
through  any  road  but  their  stomachs,  they  didn't 
deserve  a  minister.  He  said  he  could  live  on  less 
salary,  tfut  as  for  having  it  raised  in  any  such  way, 
it  wasn't  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  Neither 
he  nor  Martha  would  consent  to  having  their  self- 
respect  trampled  upon  like  that." 

"I  guess  they  will  have  to  consent  to  having 
their  salary  raised  in  any  way  that  the  trustees 
think  best,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn,  rising  at  last,  the  two 
spots  on  her  cheeks  having  grown  a  deeper  red. 
"It  doesn't  do  for  a  minister  to  dictate  too  much 
to  his  people." 

"Well,  John  Remington  will  have  his  own  way, 
you  will  find,  or  you  will  lose  him.  That's  all 
there  is  about  that." 

Mrs.  Stone  had  risen,  also,  and  was  looking 
with  fierce  dignity  at  her  caller.  At  that  moment 
no  one  could  have  made  her  believe  that  she 
approved  of  a  society  supper  for  the  purpose  of 
raising  a  pastor's  salary. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn,  with  awful  dig- 
ity;  "if  people  choose  to  get  angry  and  leave 
because  their  people  are  economizing,  and  con- 
triving and  working  like  slaves  to  support  them, 
that's  their  own  lookout,  of  course.  There  are 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  155 

other  ministers  in  the  world.  Our  church  has 
never  had  to  go  a-begging  for  a  pastor.  I  will  bid 
you  good-night,  Mrs.  Stone.  I  hope  Mr.  Reming- 
ton will  not  disapprove  too  much  of  the  ginger- 
bread; I'm  sure  I  would  not  have  ventured  to 
bring  it  if  I  had  imagined  for  a  moment  that  he 
disapproved  of  little  tokens  of  good-will  from  his 
people.  It  is  all  new  to  me." 

"  I  did  not  say  any  such  thing ! "  said  indig- 
nant Aunt  Hepsy.  But  Mrs.  Pryn  had  said  good- 
night and  was  gone. 

With  the  minister's  gingerbread  that  evening, 
his  aunt  served  up  her  opinion  of  the  giver.  To 
her  mind  she  was  a  "cantankerous"  woman,  bent 
on  making  mischief ;  she  had  said  things  to  her 
that  very  afternoon  that  made  her  feel  like  order- 
ing her  out  of  the  house.  Whereupon  the 
startled  John  roused  himself  from  his  half-mourn- 
ful wonderings  as  to  what  Martha  was  doing  now ; 
whether  Dolly  did  certainly  get  through  all  right, 
as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing;  and  whether 
the  unusually  long  ride  had  tired  Mattie,  and 
whether  she  was  lying  on  the  dear  wide  old 
lounge  at  this  minute,  in  Aunt  Hannah's  cheery 
sitting-room,  resting  and  thinking  of  him;  from 
all  this' he  roused  to  say  earnestly  — 

"Aunt  Hepsy,  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  per- 
haps, that  our  neighbor  is  just  a  little  inclined  to 
look  after  other  people's  affairs  as  well  as  her  own, 


156  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

and  that  we  have  to  talk  before  her  with  utmost 
caution.  The  mildest  expression  of  opinion  is 
sometimes  misunderstood  by  her,  to  such  a  degree 
that  Mattie  says  she  has  learned  to  say  only  ' ah ! ' 
and  'indeed!'  when  she  calls,  and  that  she  is 
sometimes  afraid  that  even  those  words  can  be 
repeated  with  a  wrong  emphasis."  The  poor 
idiot  of  a  lonesome  husband  could  not  resist  a 
proud  smile  as  he  quoted  this  bright  little  speech 
of  Mattie's.  But  Mrs.  Stone  did  not  smile. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  said,  grimly; 
"I'm  not  one  to  make  trouble.  I  lived  twenty- 
five  years  in  the  same  village,  and  belonged  to 
the  same  church;  and  no  one  can  say  I  ever 
made  any  trouble.  It  is  not  likely  I  would  do 
it  with  my  own  nephew.  I  don't  toady  to  peo- 
ple, either.  I  don't  believe  in  it  myself.  Folks 
respect  you  more  if  you  speak  your  mind  once 
for  all  and  have  done  with  it,  than  they  do  if  you 
simper,  and  say  'ah!'  when  you  mean  'fiddle- 
sticks ! '  I  know  people ;  I  haven't  lived  in  this 
world  sixty  years  for  nothing.  Though,  to  be 
sure,  there  are  folks  who,  if  they  live  to  be  a 
hundred,  will  not  be  likely  to  have  many  grains  of 
sense.  I  can  tell  you  one  thing  for  your  comfort  — 
your  'Mattie,'  as  you  call  her,  has  an  enemy  in  that 
woman.  Her'ahs'and  'indeeds'  that  you  think 
so  much  of,  haven't  done  with  her.  She  doesn't 
like  her;  she  as  good  as  said  so  this  afternoon." 


DON'T  REPEAT  IT.  157 

The  minister  went  up-stairs  feeling  that  the 
day  had  been  sixty  hours  long,  and  believing 
that  two  weeks,  under  some  circumstances,  might 
represent  an  eternity. 

As  for  Mrs.  Stone,  she  washed  the  dishes  with 
severity,  setting  the  cups  down  hard,  and  break- 
ing the  handle  from  the  delicate  cream-pitcher; 
whereupon  she  regarded  it  with  a  contemptuous 
sneer,  and  said  to  it  —  "  Frail,  slippery,  trimmed- 
up  thing,  like  its  mistress!"  Mrs.  Stone  was 
in  a  miserable  humor.  She  had  overworked  all 
day,  she  had  taken  no  nap,  she  had  had  no  care- 
ful petting  from  Aunt  Hannah  or  Dorcas.  Above 
all,  she  had  been  rudely  dealt  with  that  afternoon. 
"Mrs.  Pryn  had  no  business  to  say  the  things 
about  John  and  Martha  that  she  had.  It  was 
an  insult !  If  she  did  not  like  her  minister,  why 
didn't  she  go  squarely  to  him,  and  tell  him  so? 
That  is  what  she,  Hepsy  Stone,  would  have  done, 
instead  of  slipping  in  at  the  back  door  and  talk- 
ing with  a  visitor." 

You  think,  perhaps,  that  Aunt  Hepsy's  con- 
science pricked  her,  thereby  adding  to  the  sore- 
ness of  her  nerves.  I  declare  to  you  that  such 
was  not  the  case.  Not  the  slightest  idea  that 
she  had  said  anything  imprudent,  anything  cal- 
culated to  make  trouble  for  any  one,  had  entered 
her  mind.  What  had  she  said  ?  Reported  a  few 
of  the  silly  sayings  and  doings  of  a  couple  of 


158  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

young  people — her  own  nephew  and  niece.  It 
was  not  likely  that  she  would  say  things  about  her 
own  folks  to  injure  them!  John  needn't  have 
treated  her  to  a  lecture  on  prudence  and  given 
her  a  dose  of  his  baby  Mattie's  wisdom  —  she,  a 
woman  of  sixty !  Even  if  she  had  had  anything 
to  say,  she  would  not  have  said  it  to  a  manifest 
gossip  like  Mrs.  Pryn,  a  woman  with  whom  Mar- 
tha was  evidently  too  thick,  or  she  would  never 
have  come  to  the  back  door  with  a  little  shawl 
over  her  head,  and  bringing  a  gingerbread.  She 
was  sorry  she  accepted  the  gingerbread.  The 
idea  of  her  saying  that  there  were  "  other  minis- 
ters in  the  world!"  Just  as  though  there  were 
many  young  men  like  John  !  He  wasn't  perfect, 
of  course ;  who  should  know  that  better  than  his 
aunt  ?  But  he  came  as  near  to  it  as  the  most  of 
'em,  she  guessed  —  too  good  for  women  like  Mrs. 
Pryn,  anyhow.  As  for  Martha,  if  she  wanted  to 
wear  a  gray  bonnet,  she  didn't  see  what  earthly 
right  they  had  to  interfere  with  her.  For  her 
part,  she  was  glad  the  child  had  spunk  enough  not 
to  wear  the  new  one,  if  it  was  sent  to  her.  But  it 
was  just  like  Martha  to  go  and  offend  people 
about  nothing  more  important  than  a  little  hat  to 
stick  on  the  back  of  her  head ! 

I  hope  you  understand  what  a  whirl  of  contra- 
dictions the  poor  old  mind  was  in.  Neither  is  she 
alone  in  the  world.  There  are  many  such  — 


DON  T    REPEAT    IT.  159 

people  who  keenly  feel  the  stings  in  the  words  of 
others,  but  who  seem  unable  to  comprehend  that 
there  is  ever  the  slightest  approach  to  a  sting  in 
words  of  theirs.  Beside,  the  biscuits  were  heavy, 
and  Aunt  Hepsy  had  a  decided  touch  of  dyspepsia. 
Perhaps  you  think  Mrs.  Pryn  sat  down  at  home 
with  her  sewing,  and  held  discreet  communion 
with  her  conscience,  and  resolved  to  keep  her  lips 
securely  closed.  There  are  such  women — .bless 
them  —  women  who  bottle  up  in  their  safe,  warm 
hearts,  material  which  would  make  a  moral 
cyclone  large  enough  to  sweep  the  town,  and  who 
smile  and  pray  and  wait  until  the  air  is  clearer, 
and  the  time  has  come  for  sunny  and  soothing 
words.  Mrs.  Pryn  was  not  one  of  them.  She 
did  not  wait  even  for  supper  —  Mr.  Pryn  being 
late  —  but  threw  that  much-enduring  shawl  over 
her  head,  and  went  the  back-way  to  Mrs.  Pryor's, 
where  she  told  in  detail  all  that  she  had  heard,  and 
much  that  she  had  imagined.  Perhaps  these 
ladies  were  not  to  blame  that  Mrs.  Wakeman  took 
it  into  her  head  to  call  on  Mrs.  Pryor  that  even- 
ing; nor  can  we  consider  it  strange  that  they  felt 
obliged  to  take  her  somewhat  into  confidence. 
They  did  try  to  be  careful.  When  Mrs.  Pryor 
made  the  unguarded  remark  that  the  Remingtons 
might  not  like  the  milk  she  was  sending  them 
any  better  than  they  did  marble-cake,  Mrs.  Pryn, 
who  knew  that  Mrs.  Wakeman  sent  the  last  loaf 


i6o  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

of  that  article,  gave  a  warning  "Hush!  Don't 
say  one  word  about  that ! "  after  which,  of  course, 
common  propriety  demanded  an  explanation,  and 
the  story  about  "the  marble  walk  to  the  hen- 
house" came  to  the  front.  How  could  they  help 
it? 

Perhaps  it  was  merely  a  coincidence  that  the 
committee  on  entertainments  had  to  be  called  on 
that  evening  by  both  Mrs.  Pryor  and  Mrs.  Pryn, 
in  order  that  they  might  determine  as  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  next  sociable.  If  it  was,  the  oppor- 
tunity was  "  improved "  by  enlightening  them  in 
regard  to  the  pastor's  views  as  to  raising  money 
through  the  stomach.  Of  course  this  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  that  the  committee  might  be  fore- 
armed, though  Mrs.  Pryor  did  remember  to  say 
that  she  hoped  they  would  be  careful  about  repeat- 
ing it,  because  such  talk  as  that  would  make  it 
simply  impossible  to  raise  the  salary. 

Perhaps  you  are  not  so  well  acquainted  with 
human  nature  but  that  you  will  be  astonished  to 
hear  that  three  days  afterward  Mrs.  Hoyt,  who 
had  been  out  of  town,  left  her  morning  work 
undone,  and  went  in  haste  and  dismay  to  call  on 
her  most  intimate  friend,  Mrs.  Denton,  saying 
almost  as  soon  as  the  first  greetings  were  over, 
"What  is  all  this  I  hear,  Mrs.  Denton?  What 
has  been  going  on  in  the  week  that  I  have  been 
away?  Mr.  Hoyt  came  home  last  night  with 


DON'T  REPEAT  IT.  161 

the  wildest  sort  of  a  story,  to  the  effect  that 
Mr.  Remington  had  said  that  if  this  church  has 
another  sociable  he  will  leave  town  for  good  the 
next  morning;  and  that  he  is  not  to  be  insulted 
by  having  gifts  sent  to  his  door,  as  though  he 
were  a  beggar,  and  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same 
sort.  Mr.  Hoyt  says  the  village  is  in  a  ferment, 
and  he  is  afraid  some  steps  will  have  to  be 
taken  —  that  quite  a  number  of  the  leading  men 
say  they  fear  he  is  not  the  man  for  this  church. 
Mrs.  Denton,  what  in  the  world  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means,"  said  Mrs.  Denton,  solemnly,  "that 
Satan  has  been  at  his  old  business,  going  to  and 
fro  upon  the  earth,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour ; 
and  he  has  almost  devoured  our  poor  young  min- 
ister and  his  little  wife.  I  am  too  indignant  to 
live.  You  haven't  heard  the  worst,  not  by  a  great 
deal.  What  do  you  say  to  its  being  currently 
reported  that  he  does  not  live  happily  with  his 
wife  —  that  they  quarreled  last  Sunday,  and  kept 
it  up  all  through  Monday,  and  on  Tuesday  she 
went  away,  not  to  return  ?  It  is  said  that  Mr. 
Remington  declared  he  could  not  live  with  her, 
because  she  was  so  utterly  ignorant  of  managing 
a  house,  and  so  ruinous  in  her  expenditures  for 
dress  that  he  felt  sure  she  would  bring  both  him 
and  the  church  to  disgrace,  and  a  great  deal  more 
of  a  like  character." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  repeated  Mrs.  Hoyt, 


1 62  DON'T  REPEAT  IT. 

her  face  drawn  with  pain,  her  voice  full  of  the 
deepest  anxiety. 

"It  means  exactly  what  I  have  told  you  —  that 
Satan  has  been  at  work.  I  don't  know  what 
other  emissaries  he  found  to  help  him  roll  up  so 
large  a  ball  of  gossip  in  so  short  a  time,  but,  of 
course,  you  know  that  Mrs.  Pryn  was  one  of 
them?" 

Mrs.  Hoyt  groaned.  "  I'm  afraid  we  shall  lose 
him,"  she  said,  pitifully. 

"I'm  afraid  we  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Denton,  wink- 
ing hard  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "Flesh  and 
blood  can  not  stand  everything.  I  know  I  would 
leave  if  I  were  he.  It's  disgraceful !  I'm  too 
indignant  to  live  !  " 

At  which  very  moment,  if  history  can  be 
believed,  little  Mrs.  Mattie  was  saying,  with  a 
sweet,  moved  face  and  tender  voice — "Oh,  Aunt 
Hannah,  it  is  blessed  to  have  a  people  whom  you 
love,  and  who  love  you  as  ours  do  us.  Even  Mrs. 
Pryn  is  very  fond  of  John ;  and  so  is  Mr. 
Pritchard,  I  think,  turnips  and  all"  —  with  a  lit- 
tle laugh.  "  I  almost  know  that  we  shall  live  and 
die  among  them.  John  says  it  is  a  disgrace  to 
the  cause  that  a  man  must  be  always  moving 
from  church  to  church.  He  believes  in  long 
pastorates." 

Does  he,  indeed,  Mrs.  Mattie!  What  if  you 
could  see  him  now,  alone  in  his  study,  his  head 


"DON'T  REPEAT  IT.'*  163 

bowed  low  on  his  arms,  which  rest  upon  a  large 
open  Bible,  where  he  has  just  been  reading  the 
words:  "They  that  hate  me  without  a  cause  are 
more  than  the  hairs  of  mine  head;  they  that 
would  destroy  me,  being  mine  enemies  wrongfully, 
ore  mighty." 


164  LESSONS, 


CHAPTER  XII. 


BY    MRS.   C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


LESSONS. 

IT  was  a  fair  sight  which  met  the  eyes  of  John's 
wife,  the  next  morning  after  breakfast,  as  she 
stepped  out  on  the  wide  porch.  Soft  blue  distant 
hills,  patches  of  woods,  green  meadows,  winding 
streams,  and,  nearer,  the  orchard,  still  white  with 
blossoms.  The  long,  old-fashioned  front  yard  was 
now  arrayed  in  its  very  best  suit  of  green  —  syrin- 
gas,  lilacs,  snowballs  and  maples.  Each  side  of 
the  stone  walk  gay  daffodils  and  jonquils  raised 
their  bright  heads,  while  the  air  was  sweet  as 
springing  grass  and  orchard  blossoms  ever  make 
it.  Mattie  looked,  and  breathed  a  long,  delighted 
"Oh!"  then,  springing  down  the  steps,  ran  with 
all  the  glee  of  a  child  across  the  lawn  to  a  large 
lilac-bush  covered  with  blossoms.  She  buried  her 


LESSONS.  165 

face  in  a  white  spray,  calling  to  Aunt  Hannah, 
who  stood  on  the  steps —  "  May  I  have  one?" 

"Pick  all  you  want,  child,"  Aunt  Hannah  said, 
watching  her  with  a  curious,  indefinable  pang  at 
her  heart  for  an  instant.  The  picture  reminded 
her  of  her  early  plans  —  how  John  would  stay  on 
the  farm  and  bring  a  wife  to  the  old  home,  and 
there  would  be  light  footsteps  and  young  voices 
and  good  cheer.  Instead  of  that,  she  and  the  old 
place  were  growing  old  and  gray  together,  and  no 
young  people  or  little  children  to  soften  the  jag- 
ged edges  of  years.  She  brought  herself  back 
with  a  laugh,  though,  when  she  recalled  another 
part  of  her  plan  that  brought  the  square,  solid  fig- 
ure of  Samantha  Brown. 

"  She  couldn't  have  run  down  to  the  lilac  bush 
like  that  to  save  her  life,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Then  this  queer  old  aunt  fell  to  picturing 
Samantha  coming  up  the  walk  with  a  spray  of 
lilac  tucked  in  her  belt,  contrasting  her  heavy  gait 
with  this  slim,  straight  girl,  who  stepped  off  like  a 
robin,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  winning  smile 
and  eyes  clear  as  the  spring  in  the  meadow. 
No,  no;  this  one  —  delicate,  refined,  and  intel- 
lectual—  fitted  John.  Samantha  never  could. 
Things  were  best  as  they  were. 

"  I  have  not  had  such  a  run  since  I  was  a  little 
girl  and  went  out  to  grandpa's,"  Mattie  said,  as  she 
came  panting  and  laughing  up  the  steps.  "  How 


1 66  LESSONS. 

nice  it  is  to  get  off  here  where  there  are  no  prying 
neighbors  to  watch  you,  and  one  may  run  or  turn 
somersaults  if  she  can." 

"  You  are  mistaken  about  that,"  Aunt  Hannah 
said;  "there  are  neighbors  all  about." 

Mattie  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"There's  a  pewee's  nest  right  over  this  door. 
The  bluebirds  have  just  moved  into  that  soft 
maple,  and  there's  a  whole  village  full  of  robins 
scattered  about  this  place,  besides  rabbits  and 
squirrels  and  chipmunks  without  number." 

The  laugh  that  made  response  to  this  was,  in 
Aunt  Hannah's  ears,  sweeter  than  any  music  the 
robins  ever  made. 

"  How  I  wish  I  had  been  a  girl  when  you 
were!"  Mattie  said,  catching  Aunt  Hannah's 
hand  and  giving  it  a  loving  squeeze;  "you  must 
have  been  the  very  nicest  sort  of  a  girl." 

"Then  you  would  be  an  old  woman  now,  when 
John  is  a  young  man.  Think  of  that !  " 

"  Think  of  it !  That  would  never  do.  It  is 
best  as  it  is.  But  now  I  must  go  right  to  work, 
Aunt  Hannah.  I  want  to  learn  to  make  bread, 
'and  there  isn't  a  moment  to  be  lost." 

"  No,  you  are  going  to  play  for  one  whole  day, 
Martha.  We'll  start  some  bread  to-night.  Put 
on  your  hat  and  stay  out-doors.  I'll  come  out, 
too,  by  and  by,  when  I  have  set  things  to  rights  a 
little." 


LESSONS.  167 

"I  don't  like  to  play  alone;  we'll  both  set 
things  to  rights,"  Mattie  said,  as  she  went  into 
the  house.  And  then  she  followed  Aunt  Hannah 
up-stairs,  down  cellar,  from  pantry  to  milk-room, 
chatting,  watching  and  admiring  the  deft  ways  in 
which  everything  was  done  with  so  little  bus- 
tle, with  calmness  and  precision,  and  yet  with 
rapidity. 

"  I  ought  to  stay  a  whole  year  and  watch  you 
work,"  she  said,  at  last,  almost  despairingly;  "you 
do  it  so  easily  and  make  everything  go  smoothly. 
Now,  I  spill  things,  and  I  soil  my  apron,  and  get 
into  a  fluster,  and  look  as  worried  as  if  the  cares 
of  the  nation  were  upon  me.  John  says  I  am 
getting  a  pucker  between  my  eyes.  How  do  you 
manage  to  keep  so  cool  ? " 

"Why,  anybody  can  do  it  who  is  not  in  a 
hurry.  I  am  not  hurried,  because  I  give  myself 
plenty  of  time.  I  always  get  up  early.  That  is 
one  secret  of  getting  time  by  the  forelock.  If 
you  don't  do  that,  time  gets  you,  and  jerks  you 
about  all  day  without  any  mercy." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Mattie  said,  deprecatingly ; 
"that  is  my  besetting  sin.  I  am  so  fearfully 
sleepy  in  the  morning.  John  gets  up  and  makes 
the  fire,  and  I  mean  to  get  up,  but  before  I  know 
it  I'm  asleep  again,  and  then  I  am  late  and  have 
to  fly." 

"And  that   wears  out   your   nerves   and   puts 


1 68  LESSONS. 

puckers  in  your  forehead.  Why  don't  you  go  to 
bed  earlier,  child?" 

"Oh,  we  think  we  will,  but  our  evenings  are 
almost  the  only  time  we  have  to  read  together, 
and  it  seems  a  pity  to  cut  them  short.  Some- 
times it  is  after  eleven  o'clock  before  we  are 
asleep." 

"Nevertheless,  that  is  what  ought  to  be  done," 
Aunt  Hannah  declared.  "Young  folks  must 
have  sleep  enough  some  way  or  other.  You  can't 
cheat  Nature  without  getting  the  worst  of  it  in 
the  long  run.  She  is  an  exacting  old  lady,  and 
wants  folks  to  toe  the  mark.  Why,  the  freshness 
of  the  morning  is  the  very  time  for  work.  You 
can  do  as  much  again  in  an  hour  then." 

"Now,  Martha,"  Aunt  Hannah  said  that  even- 
ing as  she  tied  on  a  clean  apron,  "come  out  in  the 
kitchen,  and  we  will  set  the  sponge  for  bread." 
And  then  there  followed  a  lesson  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  teacher  in  a  modern  cooking- 
school.  Mattie  reviewed  it  as  they  went  back  to 
the  sitting-room,  laughingly  telling  off  on  her  fing- 
ers—  "Good  flour,  how  to  tell  it;  sift  it,  yeast, 
water  only  tepid,  stiff  batter,  no  lumps,  tuck  it  up 
warm  ;  must  not  put  it  too  near  the  fire,  'twill 
scald  yeast." 

Aunt  Hannah  was  too  wise  a  teacher  to  imagine 
that  one  lesson  in  bread-making  would  serve  the 
young  housekeeper.  She  arranged  that  two 


LESSONS.  169 

loaves  of  bread  should  be  made  each  day,  and, 
after  the  first  two  bakings,  left  Mattie  to  herself, 
being  always  within  hearing  to  advise,  to  drop 
hints  and  give  bits  of  lectures  on  the  quantity  of 
flour  to  be  used,  the  kneading,  the  rising,  the 
baking. 

"You  may  have  everything  right  all  the  way 
through,"  she  said,  "and  spoil  your  bread  by  put- 
ting it  in  the  oven  before  it  is  ready,  or  by  not 
putting  it  in  when  it  is  ready.  Shakespeare  says, 
you  know,  that  'there  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of 
men  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  for- 
tune.' Now,  it  is  something  like  that  with  bread. 
There  comes  a  minute  when  your  bread  is  just 
light  enough.  If  your  oven  is  ready,  you  pop  it 
in,  and  in  forty  minutes  it  is  out,  light,  sweet  and 
brown.  But  just  let  it  stand  an  hour  after  that 
favoring  minute  comes,  and  your  bread  will  be 
sour  and  unfit  to  eat.  The  oven  must  be  right, 
too  —  neither  too  hot  nor  too  cold,  if  you  would 
have  perfect  success." 

"  How  many  ingredients  beside  yeast  and  flour 
it  takes  to  make  good  bread!"  Mattie  said,  as  she 
tucked  a  blanket  about  the  yellow  bowl,  and 
again  she  counted  on  her  fingers — a  habit  which 
greatly  amused  Aunt  Hannah.  "There's  energy, 
strength,  patience,  early  rising,  attention,  judg- 
ment, discernment  —  and  what  else?" 

" Gumption ?"  said  Aunt  Hannah;  "but  that's 


I/O  LESSONS. 

all  of  them  put  together,  and  what  is  there  in  the 
world  that  is  worth  doing  that  does  not  take 
everything  there  is  in  you,  if  it's  well  done  ? " 

The  young  woman  stood  with  thoughtful  eyes 
a  moment,  then  she  said  —  "It  is  so,  isn't  it?  It 
ennobles  work  to  realize  it,  too."  And  then  she 
fell  into  a  reverie  about  Aunt  Hannah,  who  had 
spent  her  life  in  this  one  spot  a  farmer's  wife. 
She  had  not  had  advantages  of  society  or  travel, 
and  yet  how  truly  refined  and  large-hearted  she 
was.  How  self-reliant  and  really  cultured !  Sea- 
soning her  cooking  lessons  with  quaint  remarks 
and  quotations  from  Shakespeare. 

It  was  only  the  mornings  which  were  devoted 
to  the  kitchen.  The  afternoons  were  given  to 
resting  or  to  wandering  about  the  country  behind 
old  Dolly,  indulging  in  long,  delightful  talks 
which  reached  higher  and  further  than  kitchen 
lore. 

Their  talk  one  day  ran  upon  growth  in  grace. 
"I  sometimes  feel  almost  discouraged  with  my- 
self," Mattie  said,  "because  I'm  not  so  good  as  I 
used  to  be.  I  thought  I  had  perfect  control  of 
my  temper  for  as  much  as  two  years,  but  now  I 
begin  to  think  it  was  because  I  had  not  much  to 
try  me.  Mother  is  almost  angelic.  One  could 
never  lose  patience  with  her,  and  there  was 
nobody  else  who  came  in  very  close  contact  with 
me.  I  thought  I  was  growing  like  mother  —  sweet- 


LESSONS.  I /I 

spirited  and  unselfish,  but  I'm  not.  Why,  I  have 
even  been  out  of  patience  with  John  sometimes, 
as  much  as  I  love  him,"  and  the  young  wife  cast 
a  deprecative  glance  at  Aunt  Hannah,  thinking 
that  surely  she  would  be  shocked  at  such  candid 
avowals.  But  the  gray  eyes  looked  at  her  kindly 
as  she  said  — 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Satan  is  never  more 
busy  with  young  people  than  he  is  the  first  year 
or  two  of  their  married  life.  The  trouble  is,  a 
young  couple  start  out,  in  spite  of  anything  that 
is  told  them,  expecting  to  find  each  other  perfect. 
Of  course,  they  are  not ;  and  so  they  are  both 
disappointed.  Now,  if  they  would  be  more  rea- 
sonable, and  believe  that  they  will  discover  some 
faults  in  each  other,  and  that  they  must  bear  and 
forbear,  and  seek  the  help  of  the  Lord  in  it,  lov- 
ing each  other,  faults  and  all,  Satan  would  not  get 
the  hold  of  them  that  he  does.  John  is  not  per- 
fect, by  any  means.  I  could  have  told  you  that 
long  ago  if  you  had  asked  me." 

"He's  better  than  I  am,"  Mattie  said,  sadly; 
"he  does  not  take  offense  so  easily." 

"No,  a  man  as  a  general  thing,  doesn't;  but 
there  is  this  to  be  said  about  that.  His  blunders 
are  often  the  cause  of  the  offense.  He  is  a  heed- 
less creature.  But  most  women  are  too  touchy. 
They  don't  make  allowances  for  the  different 
nature  of  a  man.  If  a  wife  would  speak  out 


1/2  LESSONS. 

frankly  to  her  husband  when  something  worries 
her,  it  would  be  far  better  —  not  in  a  fault-finding 
way  —  little  misunderstandings  could  be  clearec1 
up  at  once,  but  instead  of  that  she  takes  some 
little  thing  that  has  hurt  her  and  broods  over  it 
and  sheds  oceans  of  tears  over  it,  and  it  grows  and 
grows,  and  then  she  puts  on  the  face  of  a  martyr, 
and  her  answers  are  all  in  one  syllable,  and  her 
eyes  have  a  red  rim  around  them.  Her  husband 
doesn't  know  what  is  the  matter,  or  he  has  forgot- 
ten if  he  ever  did  know.  That  is  oftentimes  the 
history,  I  dare  say,  of  the  beginning  of  trouble 
in  unhappy  marriages." 

"But,  Aunt  Hannah,  a  man  would  soon  grow 
tired  of  being  called  to  account  and  of  being 
obliged  to  explain  things  continually." 

"No,  the  right  sort  of  a  wife,  who  has  a  good 
husband,  will  not  allow  herself  to  worry  about 
mere  trifles  —  that  is,  if  she  has  good  sense;  if  she 
hasn't,  more's  the  pity  for  both  of  'em.  When 
she  is  tempted  to  go  distracted  over  some  little 
thing  about  as  big  as  the  point  of  a  pin,  she  will 
say  — '  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan.  You  are  not 
going  to  pick  a  quarrel  this  time.  My  husband 
means  all  right,  and  I  shall  trust  him,  even  if  he 
does  forget  some  of  the  little  attentions  I'm  used 
to.'" 

"I  read  something  the  other  day,"  Mattie  said, 
"that  vexed  and  troubled  me.  The  author,  who 


LESSONS.  173 

has  quite  a  reputation,  said  that  all  marriages  had 
their  pitiful  side ;  that  people  expected  much  hap- 
piness and  were  always  deceived ;  that  all  attach- 
ments were  mere  glamour  which  fell  upon  the 
senses,  and,  if  truth  were  known,  most  marriages 
proved  unhappy ;  after  the  spell  was  broken  it  was 
a  mere  co-operative  housekeeping,  with  a  state  of 
harmonious  mutual  indifference,  or  else  the  yoke 
became  intolerable,  and  each  longed  to  be  free ;  in 
short,  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  lasting 
affection  in  the  marriage  relation.  I  know  this  is 
not  the  case  with  my  father  and  mother.  Are 
they  exceptions  ?  What  do  you  think,  Aunt  Han- 
nah ?  You  were  married  a  great  many  years,  and 
you  have  had  time  to  observe  many  couples." 

"  I  think  the  man  who  wrote  that  was  in  the 
same  fix  I'd  be  in,  if  I  undertook  to  explain  a 
sentence  of  Latin  or  Greek.  I  shouldn't  know 
*B'  from  a  bumble-bee,  no  more  did  he.  It 
sounds  like  those  infidels  trying  to  talk  down  our 
religion.  Their  talk  is  perfectly  foolish,  because 
they  don't  know  a  thing  about  the  other  side  of 
the  question,  and  can't  know  it  till  they  have  had 
an  experience.  It  is  the  same  with  the  man  who 
wrote  that  about  marriage.  How  could  he  sup- 
pose that  the  Lord  himself  would  plan  it  and 
speak  of  it  as  he  did,  if  it  was  meant  to  be  no 
more  than  that?  You  know  marriage  is  used 
again  and  again  in  the  Scriptures  as  a  figure  of 


1/4  LESSONS. 

the  union  between  Christ  and  the  church.  The 
marriage  supper  stands  for  the  most  glorious  and 
joyful  day  that  can  ever  come  to  us.  And  would 
he  have  said  that  a  man  was  to  leave  everything 
and  go  with  his  wife,  and  that  they  should  be  one, 
if  it  was  intended  to  be  only  a  sort  of  partnership 
for  convenience?  It  is  altogether  likely  it  was 
some  young  fellow  wrote  that  who  hadn't  learned 
how  to  care  for  anybody  yet  but  himself,  and  was 
just  at  the  age  when,  of  course,  he  knew  it  all.  I 
don't  much  like  to  talk  about  myself,  but  being 
you  have  asked  me  a  question  I'm  going  to  answer 
it.  When  I  married  Nathaniel  Adams  it  was 
because  I  should  have  been  a  most  unhappy  crea- 
ture if  I  hadn't.  I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
it  all,  how  one  year  I  never  had  seen  him  and  the 
next  I  cared  more  for  him  than  anybody  in  the 
world.  It's  a  great  mystery.  I  always  thought 
the  Lord  sent  him  to  me.  The  Bible  says  that  a 
good  wife  is  from  him,  and  so,  of  course,  a  good 
husband  must  be.  I  only  know  that  I  never  got 
tired  of  him.  To  the  last  day  of  his  life  a  room 
was  always  pleasanter  to  me  if  he  was  in  it. 
When  I  was  in  Dutchess  County  I  attended  a 
woman's  rights  convention.  When  I  heard  them 
talk  about  men  —  such  domineering,  selfish,  cross- 
grained  creatures  as  they  made  them  out  to  be  — 
thinks  I  to  me — 'Poor  souls!  It  seems  none  of 
you  has  a  good  husband  like  Nathaniel,  or  she 


LESSONS.  1/5 

would  speak  out  on  the  other  side.'  I  felt  sorry 
that  they  hadn't  heard  there  was  such  a  being  as 
a  husband  who  was  patient  and  kind  and  unselfish 
—  the  very  best  and  dearest  being  on  earth  to  his 
wife.  Why,  I've  often  thought  I  had  a  better 
idea  of  God  from  being  so  many  years  with 
Nathaniel.  He  was  so  strong  and  protecting-like, 
and  so  wise  and  pure-hearted." 

Aunt  Hannah's  voice  trembled,  and  there  was 
silence,  for  Martha  knew  her  thoughts  were  going 
back  over  the  years  rich  in  sacred  memories. 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  grieve,"  she  said,  as  she 
wiped  away  a  tear ;  "  such  a  long,  happy  life  as 
we  had  together.  I'm  more  blessed  in  having 
even  the  memory  of  such  a  man  than  some 
women  are  in  their  living  husbands." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Hannah,  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  you 
talk  so!"  Mattie  said,  with  a  relieved  sigh;  "that 
article  really  troubled  me.  I  have  such  a  horror 
at  the  thought  of  John  and  me  ever  becoming  the 
sort  of  married  people  I  have  seen,  continually 
bickering,  or  else  perfectly  indifferent  to  each 
other.  I  should  wish  to  die. now  if  I  thought  it 
would  ever  be  so  with  us.  I  couldn't  endure  it. 
I  do  not  see  how  two  people  who  have  ever  loved 
each  other  can  get  into  such  a  state.  I  should 
never  wish  my  husband  to  consider  me  a  part  of 
himself  so  thoroughly,  that  he  would  feel  free  to 
ignore  me,  and  bestow  his  attentions  on  every- 


1^6  LESSONS. 

body  else.  Why  is  it,  Aunt  Hannah,  that  before 
marriage  some  men  treat  women  as  if  they  were 
queens,  but  after  marriage  they  are  often  pos- 
itively rude  to  their  wives  ? " 

"Well,  there  are  two  sides  to  that.  Sometimes 
it's  the  fault  of  the  wife.  She  doesn't  keep  up 
her  part  as  she  did  before  she  was  married.  He 
sees  she's  nothing  but  a  common  white  dish,  and 
he  thought  she  was  the  finest  china.  He  fixed 
her  up  with  all  manner  of  goodnesses  and  graces, 
that,  if  she  has,  she  doesn't  think  it  worth  while 
to  practice  now  they're  married.  She  told  him 
beforehand  that  he  suited  her  exactly  —  that  there 
wasn't  a  man  like  him  in  all  the  world  —  and 
then  she  goes  to  finding  fault  with  him.  He  is 
surprised  to  find  that  her  tongue  has  a  little  sting 
in  it  that  she  always  kept  out  of  sight  before.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  he  lets  her  down  a  peg  from 
that  high  place  where  he  put  her?" 

"After  all,"  Martha  said,  meditatively,  "if  two 
people  once  love  each  other  very  much,  they 
always  do,  in  spite  of  occasional  jars,  unless  some- 
thing very  dreadful  ^happens.  Don't  you  think 
so,  Aunt  Hannah?" 

"  No,  I  can't  say  as  I  do.  Love  isn't  going  to 
grow  and  flourish  when  everything  is  against  it. 
Did  you  notice  that  rose-vine  at  the  east  end  of 
the  front  porch  putting  out  new  branches  all  over 
it?  It  will  be  full  of  roses  pretty  soon.  That 


LESSONS.  I// 

vine  has  been  the  wonder  of  the  neighborhood  for 
ten  years.  Now  suppose  I  never  watered  it,  or 
fed  it  with  good  rich  earth  from  the  woods,  or 
dug  about  it,  what  a  stunted,  sickly  thing  it 
would  have  been !  You  have  to  take  care  of 
everything  that's  worth  having  in  this  world. 
Love  will  die  from  neglect  and  abuse  as  quick  as 
a  rose-bush.  And  there's  another  thing.  We 
are  apt  to  love  what  is  lovely,  and  a  man  or 
woman  who  acts  half  the  time  like  a  northeast 
rain-storm,  glum  and  sour,  can't  find  fault  if  love 
doesn't  hold  out." 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


BY    MRS.   C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

WHAT  a  luxury  it  must  be  to  have  a  dress 
that  is  right  in  every  way  —  of  good 
material,  in  the  fashion,  fitting  well,  with  lace  in 
the  neck  and  sleeves  —  hanging  in  the  closet; 
nothing  to  do  but  go  and  slip  it  on  when  you 
have  a  sudden  invitation  to  a  wedding  or  a 
tea  party ! " 

It  was  the  minister's  wife,  Mrs.  Brewster,  who 
said  it  with  a  half-laugh  and  a  half-sigh.  She 
and  Mattie  had  contrived  to  become  very  inti- 
mate during  these  ten  days.  They  were  not 
only  drawn  together  by  that  free  masonry  belong- 
ing to  ministers'  wives,  but  each  had  a  curiosity 
about  the  other.  Mrs.  Brewster  was  fond  of 
John.  Had  he  not  been  one  of  the  boys  in  her 
Sunday  School  class?  Naturally  she  wished  to 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  1/9 

know  of  what  manner  of  spirit  his  wife  was. 
And  Mattie  felt  that  it  was  a  privilege  to  get  a 
glimpse  into  the  inner  heart  of  one  whose  lot 
in  life  had  been  for  twenty-five  years  similar  to 
her  own,  just  beginning.  This  woman  had  prob- 
ably met  and  struggled  with  many  Pryns  and 
Pritchards,  and  yet  no  deep  lines  betokening  a 
soured  nature  marred  her  peaceful  face.  There 
was  more  reason  than  this,  though,  for  the  inti- 
macy. Each  had  taken  a  genuine  liking  to  the 
other  from  the  first,  and  it  happened  that  the 
elder  woman's  heart  was  fresh  enough  to  under- 
stand the  younger.  Mrs.  Brewster  was  spending 
the  day  at  Mrs.  Adams's.  She  and  Mattie  had 
been  wandering  about  the  garden  and  orchard, 
talking  about  books  and  people,  but  just  now 
Martha  was  telling  Mrs.  Brewster  how  to  have 
her  gingham  dress  made;  to  this  end  she  had 
taken  her  up-stairs  and  shown  her  how  the 
back  drapery  of  her  dove-colored  cashmere  was 
arranged.  It  was  the  appearance  of  the  fresh, 
new  gown  that  had  called  forth  the  half-envious 
remark  from  Mrs.  Brewster. 

"I  have  a  fine,  nice  cashmere,  a  little  darker 
than  this,"  she  went  on,  "made  when  they  wore 
full,  round  skirts.  I  have  been  hiding  it  away 
from  moth  and  rust  these -dozen  years.  It  got 
so  old-fashioned  that  I  was  ashamed  to  wear  it, 
even  in  Mapleton." 


I  SO  PERSECUTION    OF   THE    SAINTS. 

"Why  don't  you  have  it  made  over?"  Mattie 
asked,  wonderingly. 

"  If  you  live  to  bring  up  five  boys  and  get  them 
ready  for  college  on  a  very  small  salary,  you  will 
find  one  cannot  always  do  as  one  would,  my  dear," 
Mrs.  Brewster  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  have  no 
skill  at  making  over,  myself,  even  if  I  had  the 
time.  I  could  not  have  it  bungled  by  a  cheap 
dressmaker,  and  I  never  saw  the  time  that  I  could 
afford  the  ten  dollars  to  send  it  to  the  city  to 
have  it  made.  Haven't  I  a  number  of  good 
reasons  ? " 

Mattie  thought,  as  she  surveyed  Mrs.  Brewster, 
that  even  in  her  worn,  ill-fitting  dress,  she  had  a 
noble  dignity  of  face  and  form  that  one  did  not 
often  see;  well  dressed,  she  would  be  elegant. 
She  went  over  for  herself  in  that  few  minutes  — 
as  young  people  do  with  old  ideas,  and  then  think 
they  have  originated  them  —  the  truth  that  a 
refined,  intelligent  woman  cannot  be  made  into 
anything  less  by  the  absence  of  fine  clothes,  and 
a  coarse-grained,  ignorant  woman  cannot  be 
made  into  anything  better  by  means  of  dress  and 
jewels.  Of  how  very  little  consequence  outward 
adorning  was,  after  all !  She  should  never  put  so 
much  value  on  it  again,  and  yet  she  did  wish  Mrs. 
Brewster  had  one  handsome  dress. 

"What  are  you  studying  about,  child?"  Aunt 
Hannah  asked,  when  the  company  had  gone; 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  l8l 

"you  have  a  pucker  between  your  eyes  just  as 
John  has  when  he's  in  a  puzzle." 

"  I  was  thinking  about  Mrs.  Brewster.  Tell 
me  about  her,  Aunt  Hannah.  I  think  she  is  so 
lovely.  All  the  people  like  her,  don't  they  ?  Has 
she  had  a  good  many  trials  ? " 

"  Trials  ?  Plenty  of  'em.  There  are  some 
people  in  our  church  who  would  try  the  patience 
of  an  angel,  and  she's  almost  one.  Some  of  them 
went  snooping  round  —  now  that's  the  best  word 
I  can  find,  if  it  isn't  in  the  dictionary  —  when  she 
first  came  here,  to  spy  out  her  ways,  see  if  she 
was  a  good  housekeeper,  and  spending  their 
money  economically.  They  thought  because  she 
was  young,  they  ought  to  oversee  her.  She  is  a 
born  lady,  come  of  good  old  Massachusetts  family, 
and  the  blunt  ways  of  some  of  our  people  seemed 
strange  to  her  at  first,  but  she  has  a  way  of  man- 
aging them  without  getting  their  ill-will.  If  any- 
one said  a  rude  thing  to  her,  she  always  acted  as 
though  she  was  hard  of  hearing.  If  a  meddlesome 
question  was  asked  her,  she  would  most  likely 
answer  it  by  asking  another.  Nobody  could  ever 
gossip  with  her.  She  would  shut  them  up  in  no 
time  in  such  a  cunning  way.  She  would  turn  the 
subject  as  quick  as  a  wink,  maybe  say — 'How 
nice  your  flowers  are  this  summer,  Mrs.  Jones.  I 
love  to  pass  your  house,  your  garden  looks  so 
bright.  Everything  grows  for  you';  or,  'Come 


1 82  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

out  and  see  the  calla  you  gave  me.  It  is  in 
blossom';  or,  'Why  didn't  you  bring  your  little 
girl  with  you?  I  must  tell  you  some  questions 
she  asked  me  in  the  class.  She's  such  a  bright 
child.'  And  that's  the  way  she  headed  them  off. 
You  get  a  woman  started  on  her  flowers  or  her 
child,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  she  forgets  her 
neighbors'  business.  Time  and  again  I've  looked 
to  see  her  flush  up,  and  maybe  give  a  sharp  word 
back;  but  no,  she  always  seemed  to  have  just  the 
right  thing  ready  to  say  to  keep  them  in  good 
humor,  and  yet  not  have  them  any  wiser  about 
her  affairs  than  they  were  before.  Sometimes  a 
busybody  told  her  things  that  were  said  about  her 
—  that  she  ought  to  do  all  her  own  sewing,  and 
she  ought  not  to  keep  a  girl,  she  ought  to  call  on 
the  people  more,  and  she  ought  not  to  be  on  the 
street  so  much;  but  she  went  right  on  just  as  if 
she  never  had  heard  it,  and  by  and  by  they  began 
to  see  that  there  was  no  use  trying  to  do  anything 
with  her,  and  they  just  let  her  alone." 

"Is  she  always  so  bright  and  cheerful?"  asked 
Mattie,  half-wistfully. 

"Yes,  indeed!  Sick  folks  would  rather  see 
her  coming  than  the  doctor,  and  the  poorer  peo- 
ple are,  the  more  kind  and  neighborly  she  is. 
The  truth  is,  she  is  just  the  life  and  soul  of  every- 
thing—  the  prayer-meeting,  the  missionary  soci- 
ety and  the  sewing  society.  The  nearest  I  ever 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  183 

came  to  seeing  her  angry  was  one  time  about 
seven  years  ago.  Mr.  Brewster  had  a  call  to 
another  place,  and  they  almost  went.  A  woman 
said  to  her  —  'What  shall  we  do  without  you? 
We  can  fill  your  husband's  place  quick  enough, 
but  we  never  can  fill  yours.'  The  woman  was 
a  little  huffy  at  Mr.  Brewster  just  then  at  some- 
thing he  had  said  about  the  anthems.  She  was 
in  the  choir.  Mrs.  Brewster  was  still  for  a  whole 
minute.  She  was  always  pale,  but  her  cheeks 
got  red  then,  and  there  was  a  sparkle  in  her  eye 
that  I  never  saw  before,  as  she  said,  in  a  digni- 
fied way — 'I  do  not  understand  you.'  She  could 
not  bear  to  have  any  one  hint  at  putting  her 
above  her  husband,  for  he  stands  next  to  St.  Paul 
in  her  estimation,  I  guess,  and  she  doesn't  come 
far  wide  of  her  reckoning,  either,  if  she  does 
think  so." 

"Oh!"  Mattie  said,  drawing  a  long  sigh,  "I'm 
glad  she  could  flare  up.  Perhaps  I,  too,  can 
attain  to  meekness  some  day." 

"One  day  we  had  been  talking  —  she  and  I 
—  about  Deacon  Peters,"  went  on  Aunt  Hannah. 
•  He  had  been  a  member  of  our  church  thirty-five 
years,  but  he  got  out  with  Mr.  Brewster;  the 
deacon  was  in  the  wrong,  of  course,  and  away  he 
went  to  the  Methodist  church.  I  was  berating 
the  deacon  soundly,  but  she  said  with  such  a 
patient  look  on  her  face  —  '-Did  you  ever  think 


184  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

about  it,  Mrs  Adams,  that  God  honors  ministers 
above  most  others?  They  do,  indeed,  drink  of 
his  cup,  are  baptized  with  his  baptism  in  a  pecul- 
iar manner.  Here  is  Deacon  Peters,  now;  was 
one  of  our  firmest  friends  for  years,  received  us  to 
his  house  when  we  came  first,  and  used  to  come 
over  so  often  and  bring  us  something  rare  from 
his  garden.  Fresh  vegetables  and  the  first  straw- 
berries always  came  to  us ;  then  the  cherries  and 
plums  and  pears  were  shared  freely  with  us. 
Now  he  has  turned  right  about  and  become  our 
enemy.  Don't  you  know  that  most  people  do  not 
have  that  experience  ?  If  their  friends  cast  them 
off  in  that  way,  it  is  because  they  have  injured 
them,  but  it  may  come  to  a  minister  any  day  on 
account  of  something  he  said  in  a  sermon,  or  did 
not  say,  or  from  his  position  on  some  question  of 
the  day.  Men  will  tolerate  differences  of  opinion 
among  each  other  and  still  be  friends,  but  their 
ministers  must  think  and  act  at  their  dictation. 
There  is  a  sweet  thought  in  even  this  bitter  cup. 
The  Master  drank  from  it  first,  for  "his  disciples 
forsook  him".'  And  then  her  eyes  got  glad  again, 
and  she  began  talking  of  something  else  without 
waiting  for  me  to  console  her,  and  I'm  afraid  I 
couldn't  have  done  it  in  the  right  way,  for  I 
felt  so  wrought  up  at  Deacon  Peters.  Blessed 
woman !  I  can't  see  how  the  Lord  can  help 
loving  some  people  more  than  others." 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  185 

"Go  on,  Aunt  Hannah,"  Martha  said,  curling 
herself  into  the  corner  of  the  sofa;  "I  can  hear 
about  such  a  woman  all  night,  even  though  it 
makes  me  feel  perfectly  mean  and  worthless." 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you  about  old  Mrs.  Hunt,  so 
that  you  can  have  an  idea  how  the  poor  people 
just  worship  Mrs.  Brewster.  Then  we  must  go  to 
bed.  We  have  always  had  a  queer  fashion  in  our 
church  of  piecing  out  our  minister's  salary  with  a 
donation.  It  is  no  kindness  to  him  at  all,  for  we 
agreed  to  give  him  just  so  much,  anyway;  every 
year  we  met  at  the  parsonage  and  had  a  supper 
and  a  great  fuss,  bringing  in  our  money  and 
handing  it  to  the  clerk,  and  he  taking  account  of 
it.  It  had  the  appearance  of  being  very  generous, 
but  all  the  time  it  was  only  paying  our  minister 
his  just  dues,  and  turning  his  house  topsy-turvy 
and  burning  out  his  oil  while  we  did  it.  I  always 
felt  worked  up  over  it  myself,  and  have  tried  to 
have  it  changed,  but  some  of  our  men  are  so  set, 
they  want  to  go  on  doing  just  as  they  have  done 
for  the  last  hundred  years,  and,  for  peace'  sake, 
the  rest  of  us  let  them.  So  we  had  our  donation, 
as  usual,  last  week.  In  the  course  of  the  evening 
Mrs.  Brewster  and  I  sat  in  the  corner  by  our- 
selves, having  a  little  talk,  and  Mrs.  Hunt  came 
up.  She  is  a  poor  widow,  who  makes  her  living 
by  taking  in  sewing  and  selling  eggs  and  garden 
stuff.  She  said  — 


1 86  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

"'Mrs.  Brewster,  I've  wanted  to  get  a  chance 
all  the  evening,  when  you  were  kind  of  by  your- 
self, to  speak  to  you;  and  I  sha'n't  mind  Mrs. 
Adams.'  And  then  she  began  untying  a  hard 
knot  in  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief.  'I've 
got  something  in  here  for  you',  she  said.  '  You, 
mind,  not  for  the  church ;  they're  rich  enough 
without  my  poor  pennies.  I've  been  saving  this 
up  for  you  all  summer.'  And  with  that  she 
brought  out  a  five-dollar  bill,  and  pushed  it  into 
Mrs.  Brewster's  hand.  '  Now,  don't  say  it's  too 
much  for  me  to  give,  and  you  can't  keep  it,  and 
all  that.  I  guess  I  can  treat  myself  to  a  little 
pleasure  once  in  a  while,  if  I  am  poor.  I've  had 
the  worth  of  it  twice  over,  enjoying  myself  get- 
ting it  together.  I've  been  prospered,  too.  I 
never  had  so  many  jobs  of  sewing  come  in  before, 
and  my  hens  —  good  creatures  —  acted  as  if  they 
knew  I  was  a-doin'  something  special,  for  every 
one  of  them  laid  an  egg  every  day.  Don't  for 
pity's  sake,  say  anything  about  it  to  anybody 
else,'  she  said,  dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper, 
'or  like  as  not,  they'll  put  it  in  the  account  with 
the  rest  if  they  hear  of  it.  This  is  my  own,  and  I 
want  you  to  have  it,  not  as  a  part  of  what  belongs 
to  you,  anyway.  I  know  now  just  how  that  woman 
must  have  felt  that  brought  that  box  of  sweet- 
smelling  perfumery  that  cost  so  much,  and  used  it 
for  the  blessed  Lord,  and  I'm  glad  he  let  her  do  it ! ' 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  l8/ 

"Then  Mrs.  Hunt  broke  down  in  a  big  sob, 
and  Mrs.  Brewster  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  — 
'I  will  keep  it,  and  I  will  get  something  that  shall 
speak  to  me  of  you,  dear  Mrs.  Hunt,  every  time 
I  look  at  it,  and  it  will  always  be  dear  and  pre- 
cious to  me.' 

"  Mrs.  Hunt  hadn't  been  quite  so  private  as  she 
thought,  for  Melinda  Brower  kept  edging  nearer 
when  she  saw  something  was  going  on,  so  she 
stood  behind  Mrs.  Brewster's  chair,  and  heard  the 
whole  of  it.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  when 
the  ones  that  had  charge  of  the  accounts  heard 
that  Mrs.  Hunt  had  given  five  dollars,  what  did 
they  do  after  they  had  paid  Mr.  Brewster  the  two 
hundred  dollars  due  him  from  the  donation  but  go 
and  tell  him  that  a  mistake  had  been  made ;  that 
they  had  paid  him  five  dollars  too  much,  because 
Mrs.  Hunt's  donation  had  not  been  reported  to 
them.  Mr.  Brewster  explained  why  it  had  not 
been  reported,  then  handed  over  the  five  dollars, 
and  they  took  it !  When  some  of  the  other  mem- 
bers got  hold  of  it  they  had  quite  a  stirring  time 
over  it.  Mrs.  Dr.  Cressy  —  she's  equal  to  three 
common  women  any  day  —  she  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  went  right  out  among  Mr.  Brewster's  friends. 
'  Who  wants  to  give  a  little  present  to  the  min- 
ister, sort  o'  private  and  extra  ? '  she  said.  She 
got  fifty  dollars  in  no  time.  Then  she  invited 
everybody  who  gave  it  to  come  to  her  house 


1 88  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

to  tea  the  next  night.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brewster 
were  there,  too.  And  such  a  happy  time  as  we 
had  will  never  be  for  us  again  on  this  side  of 
heaven,  I  reckon.  Some  might  think  it  was  an 
odd  tea  party  we  had.  It  was  a  real  experience 
meeting,  with  singing  and  praying.  Mrs.  Hunt 
was  there,  too.  We  managed  to  keep  it  still  from 
her  what  these  poor,  tight-fisted  elders  had  done. 
Sometimes  I  think  we  might  better  have  a  lot 
of  elderberry  bushes  stuck  around  for  elders. 
They  couldn't  do  any  harm,  at  least." 

Whereupon  Aunt  Hannah  wound  the  clock, 
and  declared  she  ought  to  set  a  better  example 
than  to  make  such  remarks.  "It  was  a  good 
thing  to  say,"  Mattie  said,  recovering  from  a  fit  of 
laughter.  "I  was  getting  very  angry  at  those 
men." 

Spring  was  fast  growing  into  summer.  The 
following  day  was  exceedingly  warm,  and  Aunt 
Hannah  and  Martha,  after  spending  the  morn- 
ing in  baking,  were  glad  to  rest  themselves. 
Mattie  had  retired  to  the  sofa  in  the  cool  parlor, 
and  Aunt  Hannah  was  shutting  out  the  sun  from 
the  west  windows,  preparing  to  cast  herself  on  the 
lounge  and  sleep  her  " forty  winks,"  when  she 
saw  somebody  coming  up  the  path  to  the  side 
door. 

Mrs.  Adams  wondered  why  Simon  Johnson,  her 
neighbor's  son  —  a  frank,  good-natured  young  man 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  189 

—  looked  so  sheepish  to-day.  She  made  him 
welcome,  talked  about  his  mother  and  the  weather 
and  crops,  but  still  he  was  ill  at  ease.  At  last  he 
pulled  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  and  handing  it 
over  in  confusion,  asked  Mrs.  Adams  if  she  would 
put  her  name  to  it. 

She  put  on  her  glasses  and  read  it,  saying  — 

"But,  Simon,  here's  nothing  but  names !  What 
are  you  after?" 

Simon  twisted  uneasily  in  his  chair  and  said  — 
"  Why,  it's  to  see  how  many  people  would  like  to 
have  a  change." 

"  A  change  ? "  Mrs.  Adams  was  all  at  once 
very  obtuse.  "Yes,  I  would  like  a  change  in  a 
good  many  things.  I  should  like  for  one  thing, 
to  see  the  man  ousted  who  has  opened  a  saloon 
on  the  corner  just  as  you  go  into  town.  If  this 
paper's  for  that  I'll  sign  it  with  all  my  heart." 

Simon  blushed,  and  muttered  something  about 
the  church  and  Mr.  Brewster. 

"  Mr.  Brewster  !  What  do  you  mean,  Simon  ? 
Speak  out.  Are  you  trying  to  get  rid  of  Mr. 
Brewster,  or  to  raise  his  salary  ? " 

Whereupon  the  young  fellow,  while  he  closely 
examined  his  finger  nails,  delivered  the  speech  he 
had  prepared. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Adams,  the  railroad  is  coming 
here.  That's  a  sure  thing  now,  and  people  will 
begin  to  come  in  pretty  fast.  Property  is  going 


IQO  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

up,  and  this  town  ought  to  wake  up.  Some  of  us 
have  been  thinking  that  a  new  minister  in  our 
church  would  be  a  good  thing.  The  Methodists 
have  got  a  young  man,  and  first  you  know  all  the 
young  folks'll  be  running  there,  and  the  Baptists 
are  going  to  build  a  new  church.  We  ought  to  stir 
round  somehow  and  get  up  a  sensation.  Why, 
over  to  Burrville  they've  got  a  minister  that  plays 
base  ball  with  the  young  men,  and  has  a  first-rate 
time  with  all  the  young  folks.  His  church  is  just 
crammed.  Everybody  likes  him,  and  they  don't 
have  to  bother  as  we  do  about  raising  his  salary ; 
money  comes  right  in.  Now,  Mr.  Brewster  is  a 
good  man,  but  he's  getting  a  little  out  of  date, 
you  know.  His  sermons  are  too  long,  and  sort 
o'  dull,  sometimes,  to  us  young  folks.  We  want  to 
hear  something  besides  the  old  doctrines  over  and 
over.  We  want  somebody  who  would  give  us 
good  lively  sermons  —  short  and  not  too  solemn  — 
and  could  draw  the  young  folks.  The  church 
would  fill  up.  Why,  I  know  of  three  new  families 
who  are  coming  here  to  settle.  They  are  well  off, 
too,  and  if  we  try,  we  can  get  them  into  our 
church.  Then  we  can  paint  the  building,  and  get 
a  new  organ,  and  have  a  quartette  choir,  and  we'll 
just  be  as  big  as  anybody." 

Simon  had  been  gathering  courage  as  he  went 
on.  His  talk  sounded  well  to  himself,  and  he 
looked  up  reassured  into  Mrs.  Adams'  face  as  he 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  IQI 

put  the  climax  on  it  —  "  You  are  always  so  go- 
ahead,  Mrs.  Adams,  and  make  things  go  as  you 
want  'em,  we  know  you  can  help  us.  Besides, 
you  think  so  much  of  the  church  of  course  you 
want  it  to  prosper." 

Mrs.  Adams  had  felt  herself  growing  warmer, 
and  not  with  the  heat  of  the  weather.  She 
wanted  to  take  Simon  Johnson  by  the  collar  and 
put  him  out  of  the  house.  She  got  up  and  set 
wide  open  the  south  door  to  let  the  breeze  blow 
through  and  cool  her  anger.  Then  she  took  some 
long  breaths  for  the  same  purpose,  as  she  always 
did  when  excited,  and  came  back  and  sat  down  by 
the  young  man.  She  looked  him  straight  in  the 
eye,  and  said  — 

"  Simon,  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself  that  you  dare 
ask  me  to  sign  such  a  paper  as  that.  I  thought 
everybody  knew  where  I  stood.  I've  seen  this 
thing  a-brewing  in  the  air  for  a  good  while. 
There's  no  telling  what  people  will  do.  A  few 
years  ago  nobody  could  have  made  me  believe  it 
would  ever  have  come  to  this,  though.  It's  aston- 
ishing how  people  can  be  so  blind  to  their  own 
interests !  "  And  then  Mrs.  Adams'  eyes  looked 
far  out  through  the  open  door  over  the  green 
fields,  and  she  seemed  to  be  talking  to  herself 
rather  than  to  Simon.  "  He  has  given  his  best 
years  to  us,  and  brought  our  church  up  from  a  lit- 
tle sickly  thing  to  be  self-supporting  and  prosper- 


IQ2  PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

ous.  And  such  sermons  as  he  has  preached  — 
scriptural,  strong  and  tender!  What  feasts  he 
has  spread  for  us !  Just  like  his  Master  he  is, 
catching  a  lesson  from  the  birds  and  the  lilies,  or 
the  sunset  sky !  And  the  young  folks  think  it's 
dull,  and  he  is  to  be  asked  to  leave ! "  And  Mrs. 
Adams  fairly  groaned  as  she  said  it.  "  It  almost 
makes  me  wish  I  had  left  and  gone  to  heaven 
before  it  happened.  They  want  somebody  to 
draw  the  young  people,  do  they  ?  My  Bible  tells 
me  the  drawing  must  be  the  work  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  If  young  people  slight  and  grieve  that 
Spirit,  is  the  minister  to  blame  for  it  ?  What  has 
Mr.  Brewster  ever  done  to  you,  Simon"  —  and  the 
gray  eyes  came  back  with  their  penetrating  look 
to  his  face  —  "that  you  should  be  slipping  around 
like  a  snake  in  the  grass  trying  to  unsettle  him  ? 
It  does  beat  all !  But  then,  Satan  never  lacks  for 
laborers  when  he  wants  work  done.  Do  you 
know,  I  think  you  have  hired  out  to  him  to  do 
something  the  same  work  that  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Judas  did,  more  than  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago  —  betraying  your  Lord  in  the  person 
of  his  servant.  Do  you  mind  that  it  brought 
him  naught  but  sorrow  ?  You  want  a  man  to 
draw  the  young  people  !  Who  drew  you  into  the 
fold,  and  watched  over  you  like  a  father  when  you 
lost  your  own,  followed  you  with  his  prayers  and 
counsels ;  yes,  and  tended  you  when  you  were  sick, 


PERSECUTION    OF    THE    SAINTS.  1 93 

as  if  you  had  been  his  own  son  ?  And  this  is  your 
return !  Oh,  Simon,  Simon,  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  you  ! " 

The  young  fellow's  face  had  grown  very  red, 
and  now  great  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  He 
,  dashed  them  off,  and  thrust  the  paper  into  his 
pocket,  and  as  he  got  up  to  go,  he  said  —  "It  is 
mean,  Mrs.  Adams ;  I'll  never  be  caught  in  such 
a  scrape  again." 

After  a  few  more  admonitions  from  Mrs. 
Adams,  he  was  allowed  to  depart. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Hannah!"  said  Mattie,  who  had  not 
been  asleep  at  all,  but  heard  the  whole  thing, 
"how  glad  I  am!  Didn't  you  lecture  him  well? 
I  hope  he  will  profit  by  it."  And  then,  with  a 
sober  face — "Is  that  the  way  ministers  are  some- 
times treated  ? "  • 


194  CROSS-LOTS. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


BY   PANSY. 


"  CROSS-LOTS." 

SHE  stood  in  the  twilight  at  the  open  door  of 
the  parsonage  looking  at  the  familiar  scene. 
A  little  more  than  two  years  before  she  had  come 
to  that  home  a  bride.  Now  she  was  taking  her 
farewell  look.  That  terrible  experience,  the  mere 
thought  of  which  had  made  her  breath  come 
faster  and  her  cheeks  take  a  deeper  hue  when  she 
listened  to  the  story  of  good  Mr.  Brewster's 
wrongs,  had  come  to  her  and  hers  ! 

"Is  that  the  way  some  people  treat  their  minis- 
ters?" she  had  said  in  dismay  and  burning  indig- 
nation when  she  had  talked  it  over  with  Aunt 
Hannah,  and  she  remembered  how  she  had  shiv- 
ered at  the  thought  that  such  an  experience 
might  be  possible  for  her  John.  Thought  of  it  as 
we  think  of  and  shiver  over  possible  trials  which, 
after  all,  we  have  an  assured  feeling  will  never 


CROSS-LOTS.  195 

touch  us,  and  yet  here  she  was  looking  back  on 
a  very  recent  past,  enough  like  Mr.  Brewster's  to 
cause  the  blood  to  rush  in  waves  to  her  face  as 
she  went  over  it  in  memory  !  It  is  true,  John 
had  not  been  actually  invited  to  leave.  He  had 
been  too  alert  and  far-seeing  for  the  disaffection  to 
reach  that  point.  But  he  had  waited  until  he  felt 
sure  that  the  next  movement  of  the  church,  or 
that  miserable  portion  of  the  neighborhood  which 
ruled  the  church,  would  be  to  disgrace  its  record 
in  some  such  way ;  waited  until  he  felt  sure  the 
Lord  did  not  require  further  sacrifice  of  himself 
in  this  direction,  before  he  sent  in  his  resig- 
nation. What  a  year  it  had  been  !  Poor  Mat- 
tie,  looking  back  over  it  now,  with  some  of  the 
apathy  of  extreme  weariness  heavy  upon  her, 
wondered  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  how  it  had  been 
possible  to  go  through  with  it,  and  yet  to  stand 
there  apparently  unchanged  —  no  traces  of  the 
trial  left  behind  to  tell  their  story.  Not  that  it 
had  been  so  different  a  story  from  that  which  is 
enacted  every  day  in  some  Christian  home.  Not 
that  there  had  been  terrible  things  to  bear,  as 
outsiders  look  at  events.  There  had  simply  been 
a  hundred  thousand  pricks  and  stings,  each  one 
searching  nearer  the  vitals,  yet  having  to  be 
borne  in  outward  calm.  A  great  deal  of  the  story 
Mattie  did  not  know.  The  minister  had  been 
thoughtful,  and  kept  many  things  to  himself. 


196  CROSS-LOTS. 

For  instance,  when  she  had  been  suddenly 
recalled  from  that  long,  blessed  rest  which  she 
was  taking  with  Aunt  Hannah,  recalled  by  a  let- 
ter from  John,  wherein  he  represented  that  he 
"really  was  too  hopelessly  lonely  without  her  to 
endure  it  longer,"  she  had  smiled  in  fond  compla- 
cency and  murmured  in  a  half-apologetic  way  that 
that  was  so  like  a  man.  He  couldn't,  with  all  his 
bravery,  endure  loneliness  as  a  woman  could,  and 
had  cut  her  visit  short  by  two  weeks,  much  to 
Aunt  Hannah's  discomfiture.  John  had  wel- 
comed her  joyfully,  and  did  not  tell  her  then  or 
afterward  that  he  had  called  her  home  to  close  the 
mouths  of  certain  gossips,  who  had  actually  dared 
to  say  that  he  and  she  had  quarreled  and  sepa- 
rated !  He  was  desolate  and  he  needed  her,  and 
Aunt  Hepsy  was  becoming  intolerable  to  him. 
That  was  enough.  Why,  having  told  her  thus 
much  of  undoubted,  undisguised  truth,  need  he 
soil  the  paper  and  wound  the  true  young  heart  by 
a  recital  of  the  gossip  which  she  was  too  pure- 
hearted  ever  to  imagine  ?  So  the  wife  came 
home  gleefully,  glad  to  have  been  missed,  frankly 
confessing  that  her  own  heart  gave  great  springs 
of  thankfulness  over  the  recall,  and  greeted  her 
people  with  happy  smiles,  and  received  warm 
grasps  of  the  hand  from  some  of  them,  with  tears 
of  thankfulness  that  "the  lines  had  fallen  to  her 
in  such  pleasant  places,"  and  did  not  dream  of 


CROSS-LOTS.  IQ/ 

the  choice  dish  of  gossip  which  her  sudden  home- 
coming spoiled  in  the  very  act  of  getting  ready 
to  boil  over.  Some  of  the  women  watched  her 
closely,  and  exchanged  curious  glances  when  she 
publicly  told  her  story  of  John's  loneliness  and 
the  woe-begone  nature  of  some  of  his  letters. 
John  saw  and  understood  the  glances,  and  him- 
self drew  Mattie  out  at  his  own  expense,  the  more 
entirely  to  enjoy  the  discomfiture  of  the  gossips. 
But  he  had  carefully  shielded  his  wife  from  their 
breath.  He  felt,  someway,  as  though  the  very 
thought  of  their  story  disgraced  her  and  himself. 

But  the  trouble  which  a  green  bonnet  set  to 
brewing,  and  to  which  Aunt  Hepsy  had  added 
many  bitter  herbs  from  time  to  time,  though  it 
had  to  take  another  form  and  was  lulled  for  a  lit- 
tle, bubbled  up  again  on  the  slightest  provocation. 
If  the  poor  young  wife  had  but  known  it  —  and  it 
is  a  mercy  that  she  did  not  —  she  was  always 
standing  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Nothing 
that  she  said,  or  failed  to  say,  but  in  some  way 
added  to  the  dissatisfaction. 

Could  you  believe,  for  instance,  that  so  simple 
a  thing  as  a  dish  of  mush  and  milk  could  be  made 
to  play  an  active,  even  a  tragic,  part  in  the  pro- 
gramme ?  How  well  the  minister's  wife  remem- 
bered the  first  outgrowths  of  the  tempest  which 
resulted !  So  small  they  were,  so  ludicrously  triv- 
ial, that  even  now  in  the  sadness  of  her  heart  she 


IQ8  CROSS-LOTS. 

smiled  over  the  thought  of  them.  One  of  those 
special  snares  of  Satan  —  a  church  supper  for  the 
purpose  of  raising  money  —  was  being  prepared 
for,  and  Mattie,  who  was  on  the  musical  commit- 
tee, had  been  called  into  solemn  conference  with 
Mrs.  Pryn  and  Mrs.  Bacon,  and  asked  to  give  her 
vote  as  to  the  respective  merits  of  oysters  and 
clams,  or  rather  as  to  a  choice  between  them. 
Previous  experience  and  a  wholesome  remem- 
brance of  the  mistakes  of  Mrs.  Brewster  in  this 
very  direction,  warned  her  to  be  as  wise  as  a  ser- 
pent. She  resolved  to  maintain  a  perfectly  neu- 
tral ground ;  extremely  indifferent  which  had  it, 
the  oysters  or  the  clams.  She  agreed  in  general 
terms  with  first  one  lady,  then  the  other ;  and 
finally,  being  under  the  necessity  of  saying  some- 
thing more  definite,  assured  them  laughingly  that 
if  they  decided  for  clams,  she  should  expect  a  dish 
of  mush  and  milk  prepared  for  her,  as  she  was  not 
fond  of  clams,  after  which  she  made  her  escape  to 
the  music-room. 

Alas,  for  the  silly  little  speech  forgotten  as  soon 
as  spoken !  Both  ladies  had  sense  enough  to 
understand  the  purely  frolicsome  nature  of  the 
response,  and  if,  in  the  course  of  preparation  for 
the  supper  they  had  not  quarreled,  no  harm  might 
have  resulted.  As  it  was  — 

Clams  carried  the  day,  and  on  the  eventful 
evening  certain  skillful  matrons  took  them  in 


CROSS-LOTS.  199 

charge,  with  an  assured  feeling  that  a  perfect 
triumph  in  culinary  art  would  be  the  result. 

One  of  these  was  Mrs.  Pryn.  But  Mrs.  Bacon 
was  at  that  moment  engaged  in  preparing,  for 
the  place  of  honor  intended  for  the  minister's 
wife,  a  dish  of  golden  mush  and  a  generous  bowl 
of  creamy  milk. 

Then  began  open  war.  That  which  had  been 
looked  upon  as  a  good  joke,  when  both  ladies 
were  in  good  humor,  suddenly  assumed  to  one  of 
them  the  form  of  an  offensive  personality. 

"The  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Pryn,  "of  disgracing 
a  table  like  this  with  a  dish  of  mush  and  milk ! 
It  will  be  a  disgrace  to  our  guests  as  well  as  a 
rudeness  to  our  pastor." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Bacon,  "it  will 
simply  be  a  bit  of  fun  which  everybody  who  has 
brains  enough  to  understand  fun,  can  enjoy.  As 
for  being  rude  to  the  minister,  it  would  be 
rude  not  to  do  it.  I  am  sure  his  wife  espe- 
cially requested  it." 

"Humph!"  sneered  Mrs.  Pryn,  "it  will  not 
do  to  waste  any  sarcasm  on  people  who  cannot 
understand  jokes.  Since  you  take  her  silly 
remarks  seriously,  there  is  no  use  in  our  wast- 
ing time  talking  about  it ;  I  never  in  the  world 
shall  consent  to  having  such  a  dish  on  this 
table." 

Not    the    slightest    word    said    Mrs.    Bacon    in 


20O  CROSS-LOTS. 

reply  to  the  first  part  of  the  sentence.  Only 
this  with  utmost  dignity  — 

"I  advise  you  as  a  friend  to  waste  no  more 
of  your  precious  time,  for  I  shall  certainly  place 
a  bowl  of  milk  and  a  dish  of  mush  at  Mrs.  Rem- 
ington's plate  to-night." 

Will  it  be  credited  that  this  is  a  faithful  tran- 
scription of  the  conversation  which  actually  took 
place  between  two  Christian  women  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  ?  More  than  this,  that  words 
between  them  waxed  so  loud  as  to  engage 
the  attention  of  others  unused  to  such  scenes  ? 
That,  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  minutes, 
Mrs.  Bacon  triumphantly  placed  on  the  elegantly- 
spread  table,  not  one,  but  two,  of  the  offending 
bowls  of  milk  for  the  pastor  and  his  wife;  that 
Mrs.  Pryn  came  sweeping  down  the  room  with 
the  majesty  of  a  general,  snatched  the  innocent- 
looking  white  bowls,  and  landed  them  in  the 
closet ;  that  Mrs.  Bacon,  as  soon  as  she  dis- 
covered it,  brought  them  out  and  placed  them 
on  the  table,  and  that  this  unseemly  squabble  — 
if  I  may  use  the  word,  certainly  no  other  seems 
to  apply  —  was  carried  on  for  some  time,  until 
Mrs.  Pryn  bethought  herself  to  turn  the  key  on 
the  closet  whither  she  had  again  borne  the  mush 
and  milk,  then  hid  it  so  successfully  that  it 
eluded  the  angry  search  after  it  for  nearly  an 
hour.  By  the  time  it  was  found,  cunning  came 


CROSS-LOTS.  2O I 

to  the  searcher's  aid,  also.  She  quietly  bore 
the  dishes  away  to  another  closet,  known  only 
to  herself  —  one  not  in  use  for  the  evening  — 
and  at  the  precise  moment  when  the  tables  were 
being  filled  with  guests,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reming- 
ton having  been  escorted  to  the  seats  of  honor 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  did  Mrs.  Bacon  appear 
again  in  triumph  to  set  the  two  bowls  in  their 
places. 

I  am  aware  that  I  am  telling  a  story  which  may 
seem  incredible,  but  nevertheless  I  declare  to  you 
that  it  is  strictly  true ;  such  being  the  case,  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Mrs. 
Pryn,  having  been  at  last  foiled,  snatched  her 
shawl,  wrapped  her  head  in  its  folds,  and  went 
home  "cross-lots."  Meantime,  Mrs.  Reming- 
ton, serenely  unconscious  of  trouble  in  the  air, 
accepted  the  bowl  of  milk  and  the  generous  dish 
of  mush  as  a  bit  of  merry-making  at  her  expense, 
ate  with  great  apparent  heartiness  a  few  spoonfuls 
of  the  same,  her  mystified  husband  following  her 
example,  and  then  the  dishes  which  had  caused, 
and  were  destined  to  cause,  so  much  offense  were 
borne  away  and  the  feast  went  on. 

The  explanation  of  such  unparalleled  folly  is 
easily  made.  Two  minds,  both  cast  in  narrow 
grooves,  both  accustomed  to  rule,  having  worked 
in  a  degree  of  harmony  for  some  years,  had,  by 
some  small  matter,  been  set  ajar,  and,  as  the  days 


202  CROSS-LOTS. 

went  by,  drew  wider  and  wider  apart,  jarred  and 
jangled  at  every  step,  and  reached  finally  the  point 
when  whatever  Mrs.  Bacon  did  was  the  thing 
which  Mrs.  Pryn  would  be  certain  to  oppose; 
hence  the  open  rupture  over  so  trivial  a  cause. 
This,  also,  is  the  reason  why  those  two  women 
did  not  with  the  next  morning's  light  —  the  excite- 
ments of  the  day  before  having  slipped  into  the 
background  —  seek  each  other,  honestly  confess 
their  folly,  and  exchange  regrets. 

Had  the  mush  been  the  cause  of  the  trouble, 
such  must  have  been  the  conclusion ;  but  because 
it  was  merely  the  pebble  in  the  way,  over  which 
those  two  women  determined  to  quarrel,  instead  of 
doing  this  sensible  thing  each  sought  her  most 
sympathetic  and  most  injudicious  friend,  and 
poured  out  her  tale  of  insult,  and  wrought  each 
her  own  feelings  to  the  boiling-point  again,  and 
the  trouble  grew  and  grew. 

The  community  was  strangely  interwoven.  The 
young  minister's  wife  had  occasion  to  remember, 
with  a  heavy  sigh,  a  remark  she  had  made,  in 
what  seemed  to  her,  two  years  afterward,  the  days 
of  her  youth  and  folly,  that  it  would  never  be  safe 
in  Belleville  to  make  a  remark  to  a  third  person 
about  anybody,  because  one  would  be  sure  to  be 
talking  with  an  aunt  or  a  nephew,  or  at  least  a 
second  cousin  of  the  one  concerned.  This  is  one 
explanation  of  the  fact  that  many  supposed  out- 


CROSS-LOTS.  203 

siders  took  the  matter  up,  and  took  sides,  at  first 
somewhat  mildly,  and,  some  of  them  at  least,  with 
the  vague  intention  of  perhaps  being  peacemakers. 
But  as  the  days  passed,  they  became  interested  in 
the  turmoil,  finding  it  spiced  their  lives,  which  it 
must  be  confessed  were  often  tame  and  flavorless. 
They  went  from  aunt  to  cousin  and  repeated  and 
repeated  every  little  detail  of  the  story;  enlarging 
upon  it  unconsciously,  as  reporters  nearly  always 
do,  translating  the  gestures  and  exclamations  and 
frowns  of  those  who  last  reported,  until,  a  week 
afterward,  the  first  teller  did  not  recognize  her 
own  story,  and  accepted  it,  told  again,  as  added 
evidence  in  the  case. 

Is  it  worth  while  to  try  to  unravel  the  mys- 
teries of  a  church  quarrel  or  to  try  to  explain  the 
many  curious  meanderings  which  it  made,  until  no 
one,  least  of  all  the  two  women  with  whom  it 
began,  understood  how  it  had  attained  such  pro- 
portions, and  at  times,  stood  appalled  before  the 
work  of  their  own  tongues  ? 

Certainly  the  minister  did  not  understand  it ; 
he  was  by  turns  indignant  or  almost  crushed  with 
a  sense  of  personal  humiliation  over  the  outcome 
of  those  two  years  of  toil.  A  church  almost  liter- 
ally torn  in  sunder  by  a  fierce  quarrel  which  began 
nobody  quite  knew  how  or  when ;  a  quarrel  in 
which  he  was  somehow  mysteriously  involved  ;  for, 
although  if  ever  man  and  woman  tried  with  all 


204  CROSS-LOTS. 

their  powers  to  be  as  wise  as  serpents,  these  two 
had ;  the  few  cautious  words  which  circumstances 
and  self-respect  had  forced  them  at  times  to  utter 
had  been  repeated  and  translated  into  so  many 
strange  tongues,  that  though  their  owners  lost  all 
knowledge  of  them,  their  power  for  evil  was  inten- 
sified each  day. 

Part  of  the  trouble,  I  am  obliged  to  confess, 
grew  out  of  Mattie's  honest  eyes.  Careful  of  her 
words  she  was  learning  to  be ;  it  was  a  more  diffi- 
cult task  to  keep  those  great,  brown,  truth-loving 
eyes  from  speaking  a  language  which  sometimes 
touched  home.  Such  an  occasion  was  found  dur- 
ing that  memorable  church  supper,  which  certainly 
was  as  fruitful  for  evil  as  those  institutions  have 
succeeded  in  being,  ever  since  the  world  began,  in 
the  church. 

The  fashion  of  Belleville  was  to  spread  a  sumpt- 
uous feast,  summon  the  world  by  special  invita- 
tion to  partake  thereof,  and  when  the  inner  man 
had  been  generously  supplied,  before  any  of  the 
guests  arose  from  the  table,  to  pass  around  the 
collection  plate  for  "offerings."  This  was  judged 
a  more  delicate  way  of  managing  the  matter  than 
to  have  a  set  price  for  the  feast.  It  gave  occa- 
sion for  Dr.  Archer  and  Mrs.  Eames,  the  gener- 
ous ones  of  the  church,  to  drop  in  a  five-dollar  bill 
if  they  would,  while  poor  Uncle  Tommy,  who  had 
no  five  dollars  to  bestow,  could  eat  his  supper 


CROSS-LOTS.  2O5 

with  the  rest,  and  feel  as  welcome  as  the  richest, 
though  he  only  dropped  a  ten-cent  piece  into  the 
plate ;  at  least  so  the  committee  said,  and  looked 
benevolent  and  pious  while  they  spoke  the  words. 

But  the  fact  remains  that  Uncle  Tommy  never 
came  to  the  table  with  the  guests ;  and  that  his 
sixteen-year-old  daughter,  who  tried  it  once,  and 
dropped  a  bright  new  silver  quarter  on  the  plate, 
the  hoarded  treasure  of  weeks  for  this  purpose, 
heard  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  in  a  not  subdued 
whisper  —  "The  idea  of  eating  such  a  supper  as 
this,  and  giving  only  twenty-five  cents  for  it ! " 

The  daughter  went  home  soon  afterward,  with 
eyes  already  red  with  weeping,  and  had  come  nei- 
ther to  church  suppers  nor  Sunday  School  since. 
But  that  was  only  an  incident  by  the  way. 

The  plate  on  this  occasion  was  being  passed, 
and  Mrs.  Bacon,  smiling  and  happy,  her  discom- 
fited enemy  having  long  before  this  departed, 
wrapped  in  her  shawl,  "cross-lots"  to  her  solitary 
home,  occupied  a  seat  directly  opposite  Mattie, 
and  with  a  slightly  ostentatious  clang  against  the 
metal  of  the  plate,  landed  therein  a  shining  five- 
dollar  gold  piece,  remarking  as  she  did  so  that 
one  could  afford  to  be  generous  once  in  awhile, 
though  it  was  none  too  much  for  such  a  supper  as 
that! 

Certain  glances  were  exchanged  between  the 
wise  ones  not  in  line  with  her  eyes ;  for  Mrs. 


2O6  CROSS-LOTS. 

Bacon  was  not  free  with  her  gold  pieces,  albeit 
she  had  more  of  them  than  most  of  those  at  the 
table  with  her. 

It  was  fifteen  minutes  afterward  that  the  brown 
eyes  did  the  mischief.  Mrs.  Remington  was 
passing  the  side  room,  where  a  treasurer  for  rhe 
evening  was  carefully  counting  and  systematizing 
his  hoards  with  a  view  to  the  report  which  must 
come  later,  when  Mrs.  Bacon's  voice  was  heard 
just  in  front  — 

"Mr.  Perkins,  give  me  my  change,  please." 

"Change?  What  change?  I  do  not  seem  to 
remember." 

"Why,  my  change  for  the  money  I  put  in  at 
the  table.  It  was  a  five-dollar  gold  piece.  I 
want  four  dollars  and  fifty  cents." 

Young  Perkins'  face  was  a  study.  Slowly  and 
reluctantly  he  removed  the  shining  gold  piece 
from  the  very  few  fives  which  bore  it  company,  as 
he  said  — 

"  I  did  not  understand,  Mrs.  Bacon.  I  saw  you 
drop  in  the  money,  and  I  thought  you  said  it  was 
not  too  much  for  such  a  supper.  I  did  not  know 
it  was  to  be  changed.  How  much  did  you  say 
you  wanted  ? " 

"  Four  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  Did  you  think 
I  could  afford  to  pay  five  dollars  for  one  supper  ? 
I  put  it  in  for  effect,  of  course." 

Silently  the  change  was  passed  into  her  hands. 


CROSS-LOTS.  207 

Turning,  she  came  in  contact,  for  a  single 
instant,  with  the  aforesaid  brown  eyes,  and  had  a 
chance  to  note  the  present  effect  of  her  act. 

Not  a  word  would  Mrs.  Remington  have  uttered 
for  the  world.  There  was  really  nothing  that 
could  be  said.  Yet  the  eyes  spoke  as  plainly  as 
words  could  have  done.  "  Is  it  possible,"  they 
said,  "that  this  is  your  idea  of  honesty?  Is  it 
possible  that  you  want  the  guests  at  the  table  to 
think  that  you  gave  five  dollars  to-night,  when  all 
you  intended  to  give  from  the  first  was  fifty 
cents  ?  Can  you  be  so  mean  a  woman  as  that?" 

How  could  the  minister's  wife  help  the  lan- 
guage of  those  tell-tale  eyes  ? 

She  moved  on  quietly,  her  face  flushing  over 
this  revelation  from  the  heart  of  her  sister. 

Mrs.  Bacon's  face  flushed  also,  a  deep  crimson. 
She  was  not  quick  in  some  directions,  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  look  in  Mrs.  Remington's 
eyes. 

She  had  been  annoyed  before  by  her  minister's 
wife.  She  remembered  the  green  bonnet.  She  re- 
membered certain  unguarded  expressions  of  Aunt 
Hepsy's.  She  was  not  good  at  forgetting  little 
things  that  rankled.  But,  after  all,  it  was  not 
until  this  evening  that  she  made  up  her  mind, 
swiftly,  surely,  with  no  hope  of  changing  it,  that 
"the  good  of  the  church"  demanded  a  change  in 
their  pastorate. 


2O8  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


BY     PANSY. 


CHARACTER     STUDIES. 

SUCH,  in  brief,  are  some  of  the  forces  which 
resulted  in  bringing  Mrs.  Remington  to  the 
door  of  the  Belleville  parsonage  on  that  evening 
of  which  I  told  you,  to  take  a  farewell  view  of 
what  had  for  two  years  been  her  home.  She 
was  not  so  sad  at  heart  as  she  might  have  been ; 
not  by  any  means  so  sad  as  some  of  her  sis- 
ters have  had  occasion  to  be,  before  and  since. 
Some  of  her  experiences  had  been  bitter,  it  is 
true,  but  many  had  been  pleasant.  She  knew 
she  was  leaving  a  few  whose  friendship  for  her 
husband  and  herself  would  outlast  time,  and  be 
a  strong  bond  drawing  heavenward.  She  knew, 
also,  that  there  were  some  whom  she  was  glad 
to  leave,  in  the  hope  that  she  need  never  again 
meet  them,  socially  at  least,  until  time  or  grace 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  2OQ 

had  so  changed  them  that  they  would  not  be  to 
her  the  same  that  they  were  this  day. 

They  were  not  going  out  into  desolation.  A 
new  home  had  promptly  opened  to  receive  them. 
Perhaps  the  young  wife  may  be  forgiven  for 
cherishing  a  secret  feeling  of  gratified  pride  over 
the  thought  that  no  sooner  was  her  husband's 
name  before  the  public  as  a  possible  candidate 
for  vacant  pulpits  than  two  churches,  both  stand- 
ing high  on  the  lists,  simultaneously  and  unani- 
mously called  him.  Churches  very  far  superior 
to  this  which  they  were  leaving ;  so  far,  indeed,  as 
to  cause  some  of  the  members  of  this  church  to 
open  their  eyes  wide  when  they  heard  of  the 
calls,  and  wonder  whether  they  had  not,  after  all, 
made  a  mistake. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  tell  you  the  story  of 
those  last  days,  or  to  describe  the  parting  from 
those  few  faithful  ones.  Such  hours  are  hard  to 
describe,  and  hard  to  endure. 

It  was  all  over  at  last,  and  Mrs.  Remington,  as 
she  dropped  into  an  easy-chair,  in  the  guest- 
chamber  of  Mr.  Chilton's  elegant  home,  and 
waited  for  her  husband  to  finish  his  toilet,  pre- 
paratory to  going  down  to  the  six  o'clock  dinner, 
felt  that  one  chapter  of  her  life  was  finished, 
and  the  page  turned  over  to  an  entirely  new 
experience. 

There  was  a  little  sense  of  satisfaction  as  she 


2IO  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

glanced  about  her  on  the  luxurious  appointments, 
and  met  everywhere  the  evidence  of  cultured 
taste,  with  unlimited  means  to  gratify  the  same. 
She  had  not  yet  seen  the  house  which  was  to 
be  their  home,  but  John  had  told  her,  with 
a  significant  smile,  that  that,  too,  was  "very 
different." 

There  were  people,  it  seemed,  who  could 
appreciate  John.  That,  after  all,  was  the  upper- 
most thought  in  the  young  wife's  heart. 

"Isn't  it  a  pretty  room?"  she  said  aloud; 
then,  before  her  husband  could  answer  — 

"Oh,  John,  while  you  are  dressing,  I  might 
finish  reading  Aunt  Hannah's  letter  to  you. 
Did  you  know  she  was  acquainted  with  the  Chil- 
tons  ?  Let  me  see;  I  was  just  at  this  sentence, 
wasn't  I  — 

" '  It  seems  queer  that  you  should  be  going  to 
Robert  Chilton's  house.  Perhaps  he  doesn't 
remember  me,  but  in  the  old  days  we  used  to  be 
very  good  friends.  That  was  before  he  became 
famous  as  a  politician,  or  had  so  much  money. 
He  may  have  changed  for  the  worse ;  money  and 
politics  have  that  effect,  sometimes.  He  used  to 
be  good-hearted  enough,  and  was  a  member  of  the 
church  from  his  boyhood,  though  I  never  thought 
him  remarkable  for  his  piety.  But  his  wife  — 
well,  I'm  an  old  woman,  and  the  daisies  I  planted 
on  Elsie  Chilton's  grave  must  have  died  out  long 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  211 

ago.  But  she  was  certainly  the  prettiest  and 
dearest  little  creature  I  ever  saw.' 

"Just  here,  John,  is  an  erasure,  and  the  page 
looks  blotted,  as  though  tears  might  have  dropped 
on  it." 

"Poor  Aunt  Hannah,"  said  John;  "she  loves 
her  friends.  I  remember  she  used  to  visit  people 
by  the  name  of  Chilton ;  but  I  never  connected 
them  with  this  family." 

"There's  a  daughter,"  said  Mattie,  who  was 
still  glancing  ahead;  "did  you  see  the  daughter 
when  you  were  here,  John  ?  See  what  Aunt 
Hannah  says  — 

" « I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  stop  there,  child, 
for  Elsie  Chilton's  sake.  I  don't  mean  the 
mother,  who  has  been  in  heaven  so  long,  but  the 
little  flower  of  a  daughter  she  left  behind.  Just 
two  years  old  little  Elsie  was  when  her  mother 
died,  and  as  beautiful  a  child  as  ever  I  laid  eyes 
on.  I  asked  Robert  to  let  me  have  her,  and  bring 
her  up  as  my  own,  but  he  was  almost  angry  at  me 
for  daring  to  hint  it.  All  the  same,  I  think  the 
mother  would  have  liked  it.  She  looked  at  the 
baby  wistfully,  and  then  at  me  -in  a  meaning  way 
which  went  to  my  heart.  She  was  younger  than 
I  by  a  good  many  years,  and  looked  up  to  me, 
something  as  she  might  have  done  to  a  mother. 
I  think  she  would  have  liked  me  to  grandmother 
her  child.  But,  of  course,  I  could  not  blame 


212  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

Robert,  though  if  some  of  the  reports  I  have 
heard  are  true,  it  might  have  been  better  for  little 
Elsie's  eternal  future  if  he  had  let  me  take  her. 
I  think  Robert  Chilton  has,  without  much  doubt, 
grown  worldly  as  he  grew  older,  and  there  was  no 
occasion  for  that ;  he  had  worldliness  enough 
about  him  always.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  "the 
world  and  the  flesh,"  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  were 
making  a  hard  fight  for  little  Elsie,  whose  mother 
is  waiting  for  her  in  heaven.  Maybe  you  and 
John  are  sent  there  to  help  the  child  to  find  the 
road  home  —  who  knows?  Anyhow,  I'm  sure 
you'll  do  your  best  for  her  for  my  sake  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  mother  in  heaven,  and  above  all,  for 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ's  sake.  Oh,  I  don't  know 
much  about  her ;  there's  a  step-mother,  but  for  all 
that  there's  no  tragic  tale  to  relate ;  they  are  fond 
of  each  other,  I  hear,  which  may  be  better  for  the 
little  Elsie,  or  it  may  be  worse,  according  as  one 
studies  the  character  of  the  step-mother.  She  is 
worldly  and  fashionable,  so  report  says,  though 
both  husband  and  wife  are  leading  members  in 
John's  church.  Maybe,  child,  some  of  the  old 
farmers  you  have  left  are  as  near  heaven  as  some 
.of  those  who  have  more  culture,  and  live  in 
palaces.  But  there,  I'm  not  going  to  croak;  it 
is  neither  farms  nor  palaces  which  make  the 
difference.'" 

" Robert  Chilton 's  treasure  maybe  laid  up  in 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  213 

heaven,  for  all  I  know,  but  I  am  afraid  he  has  a 
good  deal  of  it  laid  up  on  earth,"  John  said, 
gravely;  then,  after  a  thoughtful  pause — "Ought 
we  not  to  go  down,  Mattie  ?  They  may  be  wait- 
ing for  us." 

In  the  brightly-lighted  back  parlor  their  host 
was  waiting  to  receive  them,  and  his  welcome  was 
cordial  and  hearty  in  the  extreme.  He  had  with 
him  a  gentleman  of  about  his  own  age,  who  was 
presented  as  "  My  friend,  Mr.  Hartwell,  an  inter- 
ested outsider  who  ought  to  be  inside  our  church, 
Mr.  Remington."  This  last  with  a  genial  laugh. 

Then  came  forward  a  fair-faced,  bright-eyed, 
beautiful  girl,  faultlessly  dressed  in  quiet  evening 
costume,  who  was  introduced  as  "My  daughter, 
Elsie."  She  in  turn  presented  her  friend,  Mr. 
Palmer,  a  young  man  with  hair  combed  too  low  on 
his  forehead,  and  with  an  eye-glass,  which  had  to 
Mattie,  some  way,  the  air  of  one  being  accustomed 
to  being  used  often  offensively.  The  gentleman 
bowed  low,  and  was  most  happy  to  make  their 
acquaintance. 

The  company  at  once  dropped  into  cosiness  in 
that  indescribable  way  which  well-bred  people 
know  how  to  manage.  The  three  gentlemen 
plunged  into  animated  talk,  as  though  they  had 
been  only  waiting  for  the  minister  to  come  to  bear 
his  part. 

Miss  Elsie  gave  attention  to   Mrs.   Remington 


214  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

after  this  fashion — "Mamma  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused for  a  very  few  minutes  ;  she  has  a  tiresome 
committee-meeting  in  the  library,  so  important 
that  it  could  not  be  postponed  without  great  detri- 
ment to  the  cause.  Mamma  is  a  dreadfully  busy 
woman,  Mrs.  Remington.  Moreover,  she  gave  Mr. 
Palmer  and  myself  our  orders,  to  the  effect  that 
we  were  not  to  bore  you  with  talk,  but  to  let  you 
rest  until  she  came,  for  she  knew  you  must  be 
very  tired." 

"That  means  that  Miss  Elsie  was  to  talk,  and 
you  and  I  were  to  listen  and  be  amused,"  the 
gentleman  explained,  with  a  genial  smile. 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  Miss  Elsie.  "Mamma 
left  no  such  word  as  that,  you  may  be  sure.  She 
knows  your  capacity  for  talk  too  well  to  have  the 
least  hope  of  your  being  quiet.  By  the  way, 
Aleck,  I  have  a  compliment  for  you  from  no  less  a 
source  than  Mrs.  Howell  Eustis ;  you  must  be 
prepared  to  be  made  even  vainer  than  is  natural 
to  you." 

From  which,  and  sundry  other  remarks  in  the 
same  strain,  Mrs.  Remington  inferred  that 
,  "  Aleck"  was  on  terms  of  exceeding  intimacy  in 
this  house.  Almost  instinctively  she  began  to 
imagine  a  romance,  and  to  try  to  fit  the  facts 
before  her  to  it,  led  into  exceeding  interest  by 
Aunt  Hannah's  letter  and  appeal.  Who  and  what 
was  this  young  man,  who  said  "Miss  Elsie"  as 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  21$ 

though  his  tongue  were  hardly  used  to  it,  and 
dropped  several  times  during  the  next  half  hour, 
into  the  more  familiar  "Elsie"?  Perhaps  the 
present  afforded  as  good  an  opportunity  as  she 
would  have  for  studying  him. 

The  three  gentlemen  grew  more  and  more 
engrossed  in  conversation,  while  the  young  people 
chattered  together,  with  an  occasional  appeal  to 
her,  to  remind  her  that  she  was  recognized,  and 
that  her  comfort  was  being  considered. 

With  a  table  near  at  hand,  covered  with  choice 
books  and  choice  pictures,  she  had  but  to  appear 
sufficiently  interested  in  them ;  to  turn  the  leaves, 
stopping  occasionally  to  study  an  engraving,  and 
listen,  meanwhile,  to  the  conversation  about  her. 
It  was  very  desultory,  as  became  the  occasion; 
gliding  from  one  subject  to  another  with  the 
indifference  of  those  who  only  talk  on  such 
themes  for  the  sake  of  passing  the  time  until  they 
can  take  up  some  occupation  of  more  interest,  and 
yet  with  the  air  of  those  who  found  it  a  pleasure 
to  talk  together,  no  matter  what  the  theme. 

"So  you  smuggled  in  an  hour  for  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont's  reception  last  week,  after  all,"  Miss  Elsie 
said.  "I  heard  that  Fern  was  there;  did  you 
have  any  visit  with  her  ? " 

"More  than  I  cared  to  have,"  the  gentleman 
answered,  quickly.  "  Miss  Fern  made  herself 
ridiculous,  I'm  sorry  to  say ;  if  you  have  any  spe- 


2l6  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

cial  influence  in  that  direction,  as  no  doubt  you 
have,  for  her  sake  I  hope  you  will  exercise  it." 

"Fern  Redpath  make  herself  ridiculous!"  said 
Elsie,  with  a  little  incredulous  laugh.  "  That  is 
hard  to  believe  !  How,  pray  ? " 

"  Why,  it  was  a  dancing  party,  you  know ;  no 
other  arrangements  made  for  the  entertainment  of 
guests ;  yet  Miss  Fern  refused  to  dance  —  made 
a  wall-flower  of  herself  during  the  short  time  she 
stayed,  and  committed  the  further  discourtesy  of 
leaving  conspicuously  early — before  refreshments 
were  served,  indeed." 

"  How  very  strange  !  "  exclaimed  Elsie.  "  What 
could  have  been  the  reason  ?  Fern  is  a  perfect 
lady,  you  know,  on  all  occasions." 

"Except  this  one,"  Mr.  Palmer  said,  with 
emphasis.  "The  trouble  lies  in  the  fact  that  she 
has  imbibed  some  puritanical  ideas  in  a  camp- 
meeting  she  has  been  attending  during  the  sum- 
mer, and  proposes  to  eschew  dancing,  along  with 
several  other  pomps  and  vanities ;  that,  at  least,  is 
as  I  heard  it  reported." 

"Fern  Redpath  at  a  camp-meeting!  Aleck, 
what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  Why,  she 
went  —  let  me  see  —  she  went  to  Chautauqua  for 
the  summer." 

"Well,  what  is  that,  and  where  is  it,  but  in  the 
woods ;  and  don't  they  have  meetings  all  the 
while  ?  What  is  that  but  a  camp-meeting  ? " 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  2  I/ 

"  Aleck,  your  education  is  being  neglected ! 
Positively  mamma  must  know  of  this ;  she  will  be 
shocked ;  she  is  an  ardent  admirer  of  Chautauqua. 
Don't  you  know  she  has  been  there  herself  for 
two  weeks  this  summer  ?  And  is  it  possible  that 
you  do  not  know  that  there  is  a  university  there, 
with  professors  for  everything  under  the  sun ; 
and  a  grand  musical  college,  and  specialists  from 
Europe  to  teach,  and  to  play,  and  to  lecture?  I'm 
astonished  at  your  ignorance  !  " 

Mr.  Palmer  shrugged  his  handsome  shoulders. 
"  Fern  Redpath  is  the  only  exponent  of  the  enter- 
prise I  have  met,"  he  said;  "and  she  has  had 
the  effect  on  me  which  you  discover.  I  hope  your 
mother  may  be  able  to  manage  her,  Miss  Elsie." 

"Miss  Elsie"  glanced  to  another  topic. 

"  I  haven't  seen  you  since  your  tramp  with  Mr. 
Mason.  How  did  you  both  enjoy  that?" 

"  Indifferently  well ;  on  my  part,  at  least.  I 
can't  speak  for  Mason,  though  I  rather  think  he 
enjoys  being  miserable  occasionally.  The  truth  is, 
Miss  Elsie,  I've  been  unfortunate  for  the  last  few 
days  —  fallen  among  fanatics,  which  is  worse  than 
falling  among  thieves  in  some  respects.  Mason 
is  developing  into  a  first-class  fanatic,  in  certain 
lines  ;  dragged  me  off  to  a  second,  or  rather  a 
fourth-class  hotel,  in  New  York,  because  it  had  no 
wine-room  or  wine-list;  prated  of  'principle  before 
convenience,'  and  all  that  sort  of  rubbish  !  " 


21  8  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

Elsie  laughed  lightly.  "I'm  not  greatly  sur- 
prised," she  said;  "there  is  material  in  Mr. 
Mason  for  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  I  did  not  know 
he  carried  it  to  such  an  extent.  That  is  rather 
stretching  a  point,  I  must  confess.  Poor  creat- 
ure !  With  your  fastidious  tastes,  how  did  you  sur- 
vive? He  is  worse  than  a  lady,  Mrs.  Remington; 
last  summer  he  was  positively  bearish  because,  at 
one  little  country  mountain  house,  they  gave  us 
steel  forks  to  eat  with." 

This  seemed  a  difficult  place  for  Mrs.  Reming- 
ton to  join  the  conversation.  Truth  to  tell,  she 
hated  steel  forks  herself,  but  felt  a  peculiar  aver- 
sion to  admitting  it  in  this  presence.  Mr.  Palmer 
saved  her  the  trouble  — 

"I  protest  against  my  weaknesses  being  served 
up  to  entertain  a  stranger.  It  is  only  fair  to  wait 
until  Mrs.  Remington  knows  my  great  worth ; 
beside,  it  was  on  account  of  the  ladies  that  I 
was  indignant.  By  the  way,  Elsie,  I  brought 
Howells'  last  book  over  to-night." 

"Oh,  did  you?  I'm  so  glad!  I'm  especially 
anxious  to  read  that  book  because  you  do  not  like 
it.  Do  you  not  like  Howells,  Mrs.  Remington  ? " 

"Very  much,"  assented  Mattie,  heartily. 
"Does  not  Mr.  Palmer?" 

"Well,  as  a  rule  I  do;  but  he  is  sometimes  too 
true  to  human  nature  to  be  heartily  enjoyed. 
What's  the  use  in  having  a  fellow's  sins  and  fol- 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  2IQ 

lies  served  up  for  other  people  to  laugh  at,  how- 
ever natural  they  may  be  ?  I  hope  you  see,  Miss 
Elsie,  by  what  association  of  ideas  I  reached  How- 
ells'  book  so  suddenly." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Remington, 
gravely,  "that  while  I  enjoy  Howells  occasionally, 
as  I  would  any  good  study  in  human  nature,  I  am 
sorry  that  he  doesn't  put  his  manifest  genius  to  a 
higher  use,  and  try  to  help  the  world  more  than  I 
think  his  books  do." 

Mr.  Palmer  looked  amused. 

"As  to  helping,  I  don't  think  he  can  be  accused 
of  prosing  in  that  direction  ;  and  to  be  entirely 
frank,  I  admit  that  I  admire  him  for  it.  I'm 
sometimes  tired  of  having  studies  in  human  nature 
thrust  at  me,  but  it  is  not  so  bad  as  to  have  morals 
dished  up  for  consideration,  as  they  used  to  be  in 
the  Sunday  School  books  of  our  childhood." 

"Why,  it  seems  to  me  that  Howells  writes  with 
a  better  purpose  than  most  writers  of  fiction 
to-day,  does  he  not  ? " 

The  appeal  was  made  by  Elsie  in  sweet  ear- 
nestness to  Mrs.  Remington,  and  she,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  replied  — 

"What  do  you  think  of  his  stories  compared 
with  Miss  Warner's,  for  instance?" 

"  I'm  not  familiar  with  her  books,"  Elsie  said, 
simply,  while  Mr.  Palmer  shrugged  his  shoulders 
again. 


220  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

"She  is  the  one  who  writes  the  goody-goody 
books,  isn't  she?  With  an  impossible  little  girl, 
and  a  three  times  impossible  young  man  in  each 
volume,  ad  infinitum" 

"  Are  they  impossible  young  men  ?  " 

The  young  man  before  her  felt  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes  keener  than  Elsie's  leveled  at  him  for  a 
moment.  He  hesitated,  he  hardly  knew  why, 
with  his  answer. 

"As  the  world  goes,  yes,"  he  said  at  last. 

"But  that  is  just  the  point.  These  young  men 
are  not  '  as  the  world  goes ' ;  they  have  risen 
above  the  world." 

"Too  far  to  belong  to  it,  madam  ;  that  is  what 
I  say." 

"I  know  who  you  mean  now,"  interposed  Elsie; 
"I  read  one  of  her  books  once  —  the  'Wide,  Wide 
World.'  You  know  everybody  has  read  that,  and 
really,  Mrs.  Remington,  do  you  think  there  are 
any  such  young  men  as  that  John  ? " 

"If  there  are  not,  should  there  not  be?"  Mrs. 
Remington  asked,  gently,  resting  those  earnest 
eyes  of  hers  on  the  young  girl,  with  a  kind  of 
wistful  tenderness,  thinking  the  while  of  the 
mother  waiting  for  her  in  heaven. 

"Is  the  character  any  higher  than  the  religion 
of  Jesus  Christ  calls  for?  Do  you  think  there  is 
much  justification  for  the  reading  of  fiction  at  all, 
from  the  Christian  standpoint,  unless  it  can  hold 


CHARACTER    STUDIES.  221 

up  for  our  admiration  and  our  study  Christ-like 
characters,  such  as  there  would  be  in  the  world  if 
the  world  followed  closely  in  the  footsteps  of  its 
Master  ? " 

There  was  an  interruption  to  their  talk,  a  mur- 
mur of  voices  in  the  hall,  the  quick  entrance  of 
the  lady  of  the  house,  cordial  greetings  and  pro- 
fuse apologies  to  the  new  pastor  and  his  wife  for 
her  detention  with  "that  tiresome  committee," 
followed  by  an  immediate  summons  to  the  dining- 
room. 

As  Mrs.  Remington  thoughtfully  unfastened 
from  her  breast  that  night  a  lovely  bouquet  of 
Marechal  Niel  roses,  which  had  been  gallantly 
presented  to  her  by  Mr.  Palmer,  and  placed 
them  very  tenderly  in  water,  she  said  within 
herself  — 

"He  is  of  the  earth  —  earthy,  I  am  afraid;  liv- 
ing on  a  low  plane  of  life,  from  whatever  side  one 
views  him.  And  he  very  much  admires  that  fair, 
sweet  Elsie ;  he  will  win  her  if  he  can,  I  think ; 
perhaps  has  already  done  so.  Also,  I  think  '  Papa ' 
and  '  Mamma '  Chilton  admire  him  very  much 
indeed.  I  wonder  if  John  and  I  have  come  here 
to  help  divide  a  house  against  itself?  May  that 
possibly  be  necessary  in  order  to  help  a  child 
home  to  her  mother  ?  What  if  we  could  win  them 
both  —  win  them  all?  But  I'm  afraid"  — 

Just  here  Mrs.  Mattie  seemed  to  hear  the  brave 


222  CHARACTER    STUDIES. 

voice  of  Aunt  Hannah  saying,  "  Child,  don't 
croak ! "  and  she  smiled.  But  the  smile  hid  a  sigh 
which  found  vent  as  soon  as  the  lights  were  out, 
and  she  was  once  more  confronted  with  the  chap- 
ter of  life  to  be  lived  next. 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    22 3 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


BY    MRS.   C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

IT  WAS  with  a  very  satisfied  air  that  Mrs. 
Remington  surveyed  her  new  home  —  the 
handsome  house  in  Kensett  Square.  All  was 
in  perfect  order  now,  after  six  weeks'  hard  work, 
from  the  daintily-appointed  chambers  and  elegant 
parlor  to  the  kitchen ;  a  very  model  of  a  kitchen, 
Mattie  thought,  with  its  bright  oil-cloth,  con- 
venient closets  and  shining  new  range  set  in  red 
brick.  How  different  it  all  was  from  the  place 
at  Belleville  —  this  house,  one  of  many  in  a  block 
of  brown-stone  fronts,  its  white  steps,  with  iron 
railing  and  front  door  precisely  like  those  on 
either  side  of  it.  It  was  a  dignified,  elegant 
home,  and  yet  the  advantages  were  not  all  in 
favor  of  the  city  house,  Mattie  recollected  with 
a  sigh,  as  she  stood  looking  out  a  window  that 


224         THIS    WORLD,    AND    THE    OTHER   ONE. 

opened  into  an  alley,  while  another  had  for  its 
prospect  a  blank  brick  wall.  She  could  not  at 
the  moment  but  recall  the  sunny  windows  of  the 
Belleville  parsonage,  overlooking  the  wide  lawn, 
and  beyond,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
meadow,  river  and  hill ;  and  she  sighed  again,  as 
we  all  do,  when  we  suddenly  wake  to  find  that 
what  we  have  held  cheaply  has  become  infinitely 
precious  when  once  it  had  vanished. 

"One  cannot  have  everything  at  once,"  philo- 
sophically said  the  minister's  wife  to  herself,  and 
then  eased  that  first  real  pang  of  regret  by  tak- 
ing another  look  at  her  handsome  rooms. 

They  were  much  more  handsome  than  the 
young  couple  had  planned,  but  it  all  came  about 
by  degrees.  The  Belleville  parlor  was  a  square 
room,  so  its  carpet  did  not  fit  the  long  double 
parlors  of  the  city  house.  Mrs.  Chilton  advised 
them  to  purchase  a  velvet  carpet,  as  there  were 
fine  bargains  in  that  line  just  then,  and  they 
had  followed  her  advice.  Once  bought,  this 
soft,  rich  carpet  proved  a  tyrant,  demanding 
portieres  and  lace  curtains  and  easy-chairs  that 
would  not  be  out  of  harmony  with  its  elegance. 
And  then  Mrs.  Chilton,  who  sometimes  accom- 
panied them  on  their  shopping  excursions,  was 
always  whispering  like  an  evil  spirit  in  Mattie's 
ear — "This  set  is  much  more  desirable.  There 
is  a  style  about  this  that  the  other  has  not,  and 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    22$ 

really  the  cost  is  but  a  trifle  more."  As  the 
bills  increased,  these  two  young  people  began 
to  look  serious  over  the  amount  they  had  laid 
out.  A  salary  of  three  thousand  dollars  had 
seemed  such  an  enormous  sum,  compared  with 
that  paltry  thousand  at  Belleville,  that  they  had 
laid  plans  to  give  liberally,  and  lay  up  a  nice  sum 
each  year;  but  here  it  was  melting  like  snow, 
before  they  had  received  it ! 

"There  is  this  to  be  said,"  Mattie  remarked,  as 
they  sat  looking  over  their  bills;  "the  thing  is 
done  for  some  time.  We  shall  not  find  it  neces- 
sary to  make  such  an  outlay  very  soon  again ;  if, 
indeed,  this  was  necessary,"  she  added,  her  face 
clouding. 

"I  suppose,"  John  said,  perplexedly,  "we  must 
live  somewhat  within  the  style  of  our  people,  or 
they  would  not  be  pleased." 

"And  yet  does  it  not  seem  absurd,"  said  Mattie, 
"for  our  parlors  to  bear  even  a  slight  resem- 
blance to  Mrs.  Chilton's,  when  you  compare  our 
incomes  ?  I  like  nice  things,  but  sometimes  it 
troubles  me.  Where  are  we  to  draw  the  line? 
This  is  not  at  all  the  simplicity  we  had  meant  to 
maintain  in  our  style  of  living,  John." 

"Regrets  are  vain,"  said  John,  gathering  up 
the  bills  and  thrusting  them  into  the  secretary. 
"One  thing  is  certain,  I  have  not  time  to  indulge 
them.  We  did  what  we  thought  was  for  the  best. 


226         THIS    WORLD,    AND    THE    OTHER    ONE. 

It  is  not  good  to  be  continually  recasting  one's 
decisions.  The  only  way  is  to  act  in  harmony 
with  conscience  at  the  time,  and  then  not  go  back 
over  the  past  too  much.  There  is  not  time  in  this 
busy  world."  With  that  he  hurried  off  to  a 
committee  meeting,  but  Mattie  still  sat  and 
thought,  weighing  motives  and  actions,  conscious 
that  many  times  during  the  last  few  weeks,  when 
she  had  stood  irresolute  before  a  curtain  or  a 
table-scarf,  conscience  had  protested  while  she 
had  persisted,  and  paid  —  it  had  ended  by  her 
paying  —  far  more  for  an  article  than  she  pur- 
posed, because  the  lace  was  finer,  the  pattern 
more  graceful,  or  the  particular  shade  of  color 
exactly  suited  her  taste.  She  had  decided  against 
conscience  in  a  way  that  John,  with  no  feminine 
love  of  fine  lace  and  exquisite  tints,  would  find  it 
hard  to  comprehend. 

"Men  do  not  know  about  our  temptations,"  she 
told  herself;  "they  wholesale  matters  with  con- 
science, and  march  along  comfortably,  while  women 
deal  in  petty  retail  business.  We  are  obliged  to 
stop  and  parley  about  a  flower  or  a  feather  or  a 
bit  of  lace  till  we  are  quite  worn  out  and  per- 
plexed." What  a  strange,  exacting  tyrant  was 
this  conscience ;  how  sensitive,  how  quick  to  take 
affront  and  leave  one  to  adjust  alone  the  deli- 
cate balance  between  right  and  wrong.  Perhaps 
sitting  there  alone,  searching  herself,  convicting 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    22/ 

and  condemning,  Mrs.  Remington  did  quite  as 
profitable  work  for  herself  and  those  she  was  to 
influence  as  John  did  at  his  meeting. 

If  life  at  Belleville  had  been  busy,  what  should 
be  said  of  this  new  life,  when  neither  found 
scarcely  a  minute  to  call  his  own.  Such  a  broad 
field  as  it  was !  —  this  corner  of  the  vineyard,  with 
many  of  its  members  business  men  in  hot  pursuit 
of  wealth,  others  struggling  to  keep  one  hand  in 
Christ's  and  the  other  in  that  of  the  world,  and 
its  young  people  chasing  pleasure  as  children  do 
butterflies.  An  eager,  bustling,  hurrying  throng 
it  was,  with  ears  stopped,  and  eyes  intent  on 
their  different  goals ;  only  the  faithful  few  to  be 
found  in  every  church  to  help  stem  the  tide  of 
worldliness.  Well  might  the  young  minister 
choose  for  his  text :  "  Who  is  sufficient  for  these 
things  ?" 

Mattie  found  her  work  among  the  young  peo- 
ple. The  former  minister's  wife  had  been  elderly 
and  reserved,  performing  her  round  of  duties  in  a 
solemn  punctilious  manner,  utterly  devoid  of  sym- 
pathy with  all  who  had  not  attained  to  years  and 
wisdom.  To  those  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
her  for  years,  she  served  as  the  type  for  all  minis- 
ters' wives.  Mrs.  Remington  was  a  surprise, 
with  her  youth  and  brightness  and  winning  man- 
ner, which  charmed  the  hearts  of  young  and  old 
alike.  It  seemed  a  pity,  some  of  them  thought, 


228    THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

that  one  no  older  than  themselves  and  so  fitted 
to  shine  in  society  should  be,  by  her  position, 
debarred  from  any  of  its  pleasures.  But  what 
was  marvelous,  to  them  she  seemed  just  as  much 
absorbed  in  her  world  as  they  in  theirs.  In  fact, 
she  spoke  with  more  enthusiasm  of  prayer-meet- 
ings and  church  work  than  many  of  them  —  pleas- 
ure-surfeited creatures  —  could  possibly  feel  for 
their  gayeties. 

"  She  might  as  well  be  a  nun,"  remarked  a  soci- 
ety man,  as  a  group  of  young  people  were  discus- 
sing the  new  minister  and  his  wife  one  evening ; 
"it  is  too  bad  to  condemn  her  to  such  a  life.  She 
is  so  beautiful  and  charming.  Any  fossil  of  a 
woman  could  fill  her  place  —  lead  missionary 
meetings  and  visit  the  sick.  She  ought  not  to  be 
wasted  in  that  way." 

"She  doesn't  seem  to  need  your  pity  in  the 
least,"  a  sharp-tongued  young  lady  replied  ;  "she  is 
the  happiest  person  among  us  all.  And  you  must 
remember  she  chose  her  position.  She  probably 
had  the  opportunity  to  look  higher,  and  marry  a 
man  who  would  take  her  to  hops  and  theatres  and 
operas,  every  night  in  the  week.  She  preferred 
missionary  meetings,  it  seems."  "  Perhaps  she 
preferred  i  husband  who  had  brains  for  some- 
thing else  beside  theatres  and  operas,"  remarked 
another  girl.  "  Mr.  Remington  is  a  noble  man, 
and  brilliant  besides.  It  would  go  far  toward  rec- 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    22Q 

onciling  one  to  an  uncongenial  lot  if  it  were 
shared  with  such  a  person." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  It  makes  quite  a  difference 
whether  a  handsome  young  minister  who  can  get 
loud  calls  to  rich  churches  is  thrown  into  your 
lot,"  giggled  an  empty-headed  young  fellow. 

"  She  might  as  well  do  her  duties  with  a  good 
grace.  A  minister's  wife  has  to  give  herself  up 
to  all  these  things,  or  she  won't  be  popular,"  came 
from  another. 

"Anybody  would  think,  to  hear  you  talk,"  said 
a  plain-faced  girl,  with  a  positive  ring  in  her 
voice,  "  that  you  were  all  heathen,  instead  of 
church-members.  I  have  heard  of  people,  young 
and  beautiful,  and  rich  beside,  who  gave  them- 
selves up  to  Christian  work  for  this  one  reason, 
that  they  loved  the  Lord  and  wanted  to  serve  Him. 
They  believed  this  world  was  simply  a  school  in 
which  to  prepare  for  another.  I  think  Mrs.  Rem- 
;ngton  is  such  a  person." 

"Sure  enough!"  a  young  man  said  in  a  tone 
half  ironical  and  half  earnest ;  "  there  is  another 
world !  That  is  why  things  seem  queer  some- 
cimes.  It  would  be  really  funny,  if  there  wasn't  a 
solemn  side  to  it,  to  see  how  some  Christians  act. 
They  profess  to  believe  that  their  chief  business  is 
to  serve  God,  and  that  when  we  go  out  of  this 
world  we  open  our  eyes  in  the  next  one  —  which 
is  the  beginning  of  eternity  —  and  yet  many  of 


23O    THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

them  make  religion  a  little  side  issue.  I  tell  you 
I  believe  there  will  be  a  terrible  awakening  when 
some  people  awake  in  the  next  world.  They 
insult  the  Lord  as  they  would  not  dare  insult  a 
fellow-creature.  In  my  opinion  there  isn't  any 
half-way  business  about  this  matter.  Do  you  sup- 
pose men  and  women,  who  are  mad  for  money,  or 
who  spend  their  whole  time  in  dressing,  eating 
and  drinking,  dancing  and  card-playing  and  dawd- 
ling, are  going,  as  soon  as  they  close  their  eyes  in 
death,  to  wake  to  a  long  eternity  of  praising  God  ? 
I  don't  believe  it." 

The  last  speaker,  familiarly  known  as  "  Bob 
Trent,"  was  a  gay  young  fellow,  given  to  jokes 
and  witticisms  to  such  a  degree  that  everybody 
expected  to  laugh  every  time  he  opened  his 
mouth.  His  listeners,  who  were  most  of  them 
professed  Christians,  stared  in  amazement  at  such 
talk  from  him.  Evidently  this  was  no  joke.  His 
face  was  positively  troubled.  One  of  the  most 
shallow  of  the  girls  tried  to  break  the  spell  that 
had  fallen  upon  the  group,  by  breaking  into  a 
merry  laugh,  and  asking  —  "  What  has  come  over 
Bob?"  But  the  attempt  was  a  failure.  There 
was  a  constrained  silence  until  somebody  proposed 
a  song,  and  they  started  for  the  music-room.  On 
the  way,  Aleck  Palmer  confided  to  Elsie  Chilton 
that  if  poor  Bob  ever  did  become  a  Christian, 
he  would  surely  be  a  fanatic,  for  it  was  out  of 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.     23! 

just    such    ill-balanced    fellows    that    they    made 
them. 

Elsie  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  of 
Bob's  words.  Truly,  it  was  strange  that  people 
went  on  as  they  did  if  they  believed  that  at  any 
moment  they  might  step  into  the  next  world. 
She  would  not  like  to  go,  she  thought,  that  very 
minute.  She  did  not  feel  ready  enough.  And 
then,  in  those  few  seconds,  this  half-hearted  Chris- 
tian pressed  nearer  to  the  Master  —  even  touched 
the  hem  of  his  garment,  so,  changing  her  whole 
life.  But  they  were  calling  upon  her  to  sing. 
Mr.  Palmer  made  the  selection,  and  she  sang  a 
wild  ditty  about  an  elfin  knight,  which  was  much 
applauded.  They  pleaded  for  another,  and  yield- 
ing to  an  impulse  that  she  could  scarcely  resist, 
Elsie  sang,  to  a  sweet,  low  accompaniment,  the 
verses  she  often  sang  for  her  grandmother  — 

"  It  lies  about  us  like  a  cloud, 

That  world  we  cannot  see ; 

But  the  swift  closing  of  an  eye 

May  bring  us  there  to  be." 

Then  that  strange  hush  fell  again  upon  the  lis- 
teners ;  even  the  most  persistent  talkers  ceased, 
and  the  company  gathered  from  every  room  into 
that  one,  eager  to  catch  every  note  of  sweetness. 

"  I  wish  they  would  give  us  such  music  oftener, 
instead  of  so  much  fol-de-rol,"  a  tired-looking 


232    THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

business  man  remarked.  But  the  musical  critics 
sneered  a  little,  privately,  and  cast  meaning 
glances  at  one  another.  Aleck  Palmer  frowned, 
and  wondered  within  himself  what  possessed  every- 
body to-night.  He  hinted  afterward  to  Elsie  that 
there  were  more  cheerful  themes  for  songs  than 
dying,  and  she  replied  — 

"  It  is  strange,  as  Bob  Trent  said.  When  we 
are  only  going  to  stay  a  few  years  in  this  world, 
and  ages  on  ages  in  the  other,  one  would  think  we 
would  like  to  know  about  it.  Everybody  doesn't 
dislike  to  hear  about  the  other  world,  Aleck ;  my 
grandmother  loves  those  songs." 

And  then  the  young  man  murmured  something 
about  it  being  very  well  for  old  people  who  were 
just  through  with  life. 

"How  do  you  know  but  you  are  just  through 
with  it?"  she  asked.  "You  may  be  going  to 
another  world  to-night,  for  anything  you  certainly 
know.  And  it  is  not  old  people  only  who  feel  so. 
Mrs.  Remington  feels  about  dying  just  as  my 
grandmother  does.  She  never  speaks  of  it  in  a 
gloomy  way." 

"  Mrs.  Remington  !  "  the  young  man  said,  with 
an  impatient  drawing  down  of  his  eyebrows.  "  It 
is  strange  that  one  like  you  will  allow  two  narrow, 
countrybred  young  people  to  get  such  an  influence 
over  you." 

"You  are  mistaken  entirely,  Aleck;   Mrs.  Rem- 


THIS    WORLD,    AND    THE    OTHER    ONE.         233 

ington  has  never  lived  out  of  a  large  city,  except  a 
few  months,  and  Mr.  Remington  spent  seven 
years  of  his  life  in  New  York  City.  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  by  narrow.  They  are  both 
of  them  extremely  well  educated,  and  father  says 
Mr.  Remington  is  one  of  the  finest  scholars  for 
his  age  that  he  has  ever  met." 

Others  joined  them  then,  and  the  talk  was 
interrupted ;  but  Elsie,  while  she  kept  up  a  gay 
conversation,  was  conscious  that  Aleck  Palmer's 
words  had  jarred  her.  She  did  not  like  to  think 
that  they  two  were  not  in  harmony.  Was  he 
changed,  or  was  she  ? 

The  truth  was  that  Elsie  Chilton  was  strongly 
influenced  by  Mrs.  Remington,  more  so  than  she 
was  aware.  They  had  been  mutually  attracted 
from  the  first.  During  the  arranging  of  the 
house,  Elsie  was  often  called  in  to  consult  in  mat- 
ters of  taste,  which  ended  in  her  being  quite  at 
home  there,  scarcely  a  day  passing  that  she  did 
not  run  in  upon  them. 

It  was  a  novel  experience  to  Elsie  to  find  a 
friend  nearly  her  own  age  who  sympathized  with 
many  of  her  tastes,  and  yet  whose  pure  character 
and  sweet  dignity  compelled  her  highest  respect. 
The  girl  was  unconsciously  raising  her  standards, 
.not  so  much  from  anything  that  was  said  to  her  as 
from  observing  two  people  who  lived  on  an  unusu- 
ally high  plane.  She  began  to  be  more  critical 


234         THIS    WORLD,    AND    THE    OTHER    ONE. 

of  her  music.  It  must  be  more  elevated  in  tone. 
The  novels  she  had  read  a  short  time  ago  she  now 
cast  aside  without  questioning,  as  trashy,  and 
gradually  a  taste  was  awakened  for  the  best 
thoughts  of  great  minds,  so  that  she  really 
enjoyed  reading  and  talking  over  what  she  had 
once  thought  dry  and  devoid  of  interest.  By 
degrees,  too,  as  she  watched  these  busy  workers, 
her  own  life  began  to  seem  aimless. 

"Mrs.  Remington,"  she  said  one  day,  "I  am 
growing  ashamed  of  myself.  I  live  just  for  my 
own  pleasures.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  did  any- 
thing to  help  anybody." 

"Help  me,  then,  this  very  day,"  said  that  lady; 
"go  to  missionary  meeting  with  me." 

"I  never  go  to  such  meetings.  I  could  not 
open  my  lips  in  one,  if  it  would  save  my  life. 
How  could  I  possibly  help  you  if  I  went?" 

"  I  have  to  lead  the  meeting,  and  the  singing  is 
not  good.  Most  of  the  ladies  sing  in  a  timid  way. 
I  have  to  do  it  nearly  all  myself  sometimes.  It 
would  help  immensely  to  have  you  there.  Your 
voice  would  carry  them  right  along.  Do  go, 
please." 

"Yes,  I  can  sing,  if  that  is  all;  but  that's  not 
working." 

"To  be  sure,  it  is  working  in  a  most  effective 
way.  If  we  can  make  a  missionary  meeting  so 
attractive  that  people  will  come  out,  they  will  be 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    235 

sure  to  be  interested  finally.  I  am  delighted 
that  you  will  go.  Now,  you  are  to  preside  at  the 
organ,  lead  the  singing,  and  sing  a  solo  beside," 
Mrs.  Remington  said,  eagerly,  turning  over  her 
music  in  search  of  a  certain  piece. 

"Oh,  I  can't  sing  'From  Greenland's  Icy 
Mountains  ',  "  said  Elsie. 

"  No,  you  shall  not.  We  can  sing  that  our- 
selves. Here  is  one  for  you,  though  —  one  of  my 
favorites.  Listen."  And  Mrs.  Remington  sang 
the  first  verse  — 

"  There  is  a  green  hill  far  away, 

Without  a  city  wall ; 
Where  the  dear  Lord  was  crucified, 
Who  died  to  save  us  all." 

"That  is  lovely;  but  it  is  not  a  missionary 
piece,"  said  Elsie,  as  her  eyes  glanced  over  the 
next  verse. 

"  It  is  all  missionary,  dear.  Don't  you  know 
part  of  the  work  has  to  be  done  for  our  own  poor 
faithless  selves  who  stay  at  home?  One  never 
feels  so  much  like  helping  to  save  others  as  when 
his  own  heart  has  been  made  soft  by  a  look  at  the 
dying  loving  Lord.  These  words  are  very  tender 
and  sweet,  I  think." 

After  that  it  came  about  that  Elsie  Chilton's 
solos  were  an  attractive  feature  of  the  missionary 
meetings.  As  she  sang,  her  own  heart  was 


236    THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

often  stirred  with  a  longing  for  something  she 
had  not. 

"It  is  so  easy  and  pleasant  for  you  to  do 
good  with  that  wonderful  voice  of  yours,"  the 
minister's  wife  said  to  Elsie,  one  day.  "Do  you 
know  the  next  thing  that  needs  you  very  much  ? 
It  is  our  Children's  Temperance  Band.  They 
sing  in  a  nasal  tone,  and  they  drag,  and  my  voice 
is  not  powerful  enough  to  control  so  many.  You 
will  not  say  'no,'  will  you?" 

And  so  the  clear  young  voice  rang  out  in  the 
temperance  band,  infusing  into  it  new  life  and 
spirit.  Without  her  knowing  how  it  had  come 
about,  Elsie  Chilton  found  herself  being  changed 
from  a  frivolous  idler  into  a  busy,  interested 
worker.  Her  friends  thought  the  change  was 
due  to  a  sort  of  magnetic  influence  which  Mrs. 
Remington  exercised  over  her,  but  she  herself 
recognized  something  deeper  and  stronger  —  even 
the  Spirit  of  God  transforming  her  being.  When 
her  face  had  become  a  familiar  object  in  the 
different  benevolent  societies,  people  looked  on 
and  wondered,  remarking — "  There  is  a  good 
deal  in  that  butterfly  girl,  after  all." 

There  were  two  persons  who,  looking  on,  were 
not  pleased.  One  was  Mr.  Aleck  Palmer.  The 
other  was  Elsie's  step-mother.  As  long  as  Mrs. 
Remington's  influence  had  been  exerted  in  an 
intellectual  way  only,  Mrs.  Chilton  was  not  dis- 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.    23 / 

turbed.  Anything  that  assisted  to  "culture" 
had  her  entire  approval.  It  was  in  its  shallow 
sense  that  she  used  the  word.  She  had  no  idea 
of  the  broader  and  deeper  meaning.  Whatever 
would  enable  one  to  show  off  well,  and  make 
a  display  in  some  line,  was  to  be  cultivated. 
She  was  herself  a  member  of  a  high  literary 
club,  and  she  talked  learnedly  of  "heredity," 
"natural  selection,"  etc.  She  was,  most  of  all, 
a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  filled  with  ambi- 
tious schemes  for  herself  and  others.  She  had 
long  ago  laid  her  plans  that  Elsie  should  marry 
Aleck  Palmer.  It  was  an  alliance  to  be  desired. 
He  was  wealthy  and  cultured,  and  belonged  to 
one  of  the  best  families.  Elsie,  once  settled  in 
life,  would  be  well  out  of  the  way  when  her  own 
young  daughters  should  come  into  society.  If 
Elsie  married  into  much  wealth,  she  would  have 
need  of  less  from  her  father.  Mrs.  Chilton  did 
not  tell  these  things  out.  She  did  not  even  urge 
Mr.  Palmer  on  Elsie's  attention.  She  had  too 
much  tact  to  spoil  affairs  in  that  way ;  but  she 
had  managed  that  they  should  be  much  together ; 
and  without  seeming  to  do  so,  had  been  an 
important  factor  in  hastening  the  glad  day  when 
she  could  announce  the  engagement  to  her 
friends. 

And  Elsie  Chilton,   as  she   was  a  few  months 
ago,  viewing  life  as  one  long  summer  in   which 


238    THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE. 

to  laugh  and  sing  and  dance,  gave  her  promise 
that  June  day  with  no  more  serious  thoughts 
concerning  it  than  had  the  butterflies  circling 
about  her  head.  "Of  course,  she  would  accept 
so  brilliant  an  offer;  there  could  be  but  one 
answer  to  that,"  and  when  her  heart,  asserting 
its  rights,  propounded  perplexing  questions,  she 
declared — "  Certainly  .  I  am  fond  of  him;  why 
should  I  not  be?"  Having  once  decided  the 
question,  her  loyal,  affectionate  nature  would  take 
matters  into  its  own  hands  and  at  once  enthrone 
him  in  her  heart  as  wisest  and  best  of  mankind. 

Elsie  was  out  one  evening  when  Mr.  Palmer 
called,  but  Mrs.  Chilton  received  him  warmly. 
They  were  excellent  friends,  and  the  young  man 
was  disposed  to  be  quite  confidential  with  her. 
He  admired  her  exceedingly  —  the  graceful,  gra- 
cious woman,  never  jarring  one  by  eccentricities 
or  extremes.  He  liked  to  talk  with  her,  because 
she  did  not  differ  from  him.  She  administered 
flattery  in  such  a  subtle,  delightful  way  that  he 
always  came  away  from  a  visit  with  her  feeling 
exceedingly  well  pleased  with  Aleck  Palmer. 

"Elsie  used  to  be  like  her,"  he  told  himself, 
with  a  sigh;  "but  a  strange  change  is  coming 
over  her." 

"  I  suppose  your  daughter  is  worshiping  at  the 
shrine  of  her  patron  saints  this  evening,"  he  said, 
as  he  seated  himself  with  a  disappointed  air. 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.     239 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Aleck?"  Mrs. 
Chilton  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said;  "but  I  suppose  you 
know  of  her  great  admiration  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Remington.  They  seem  to  be  drawing  her  into 
all  sorts  of  vagaries.  I  should  not  know  her  for 
the  same  person." 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Chilton  said,  with  a  troubled  air; 
"  I  do  regret  her  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Remington. 
A  minister's  wife,  of  course,  must  live  differently 
from  others,  but  the  idea  of  her  trying  to  induce 
a  society  young  lady  to  go  into  such  extremes  is 
preposterous.  I  have  not  said  much  to  Elsie  lest 
opposition  should  strengthen  her  in  her  course. 
I  think  she  will  tire  of  it  all." 

"I  am  rather  doubtful  of  that,"  Mr.  Palmer 
said ;  "she  is  pretty  far  gone.  The  other  night  at 
the  Merediths  she  sang  a  hymn,  when  she  was 
encored." 

"  Is  that  possible  ? "  Mrs.  Chilton  looked 
shocked. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  and  her  talk  to  me  was  extremely 
visionary.  Of  late  she  seems  to  have  no  time  for 
her  friends.  She  has  to  attend  a  temperance 
class,  or  an  industrial  school,  or  something  of  that 
sort.  And  actually  she  told  me  the  other  night 
she  feared  it  was  wrong  to  dance.  Of  course,  I 
knew  where  she  got  it.  The  egotism  of  people 
who  lay  down  laws  of  conduct  which  condemn  all 


240         THIS    WORLD,    AND    THE    OTHER    ONE. 

who  do  not  agree  with  them  is  astonishing ! 
Those  Remingtons  hold  most  obnoxious  veiws  on 
every  subject.  I  am  sorry  such  a  narrow,  bigoted 
man  is  our  pastor.  Elsie  is  becoming  spoiled, 
Mrs.  Chilton.  I  fear  she  will  be  on  a  public 
platform  yet,  speaking  for  temperance  like  Miss 
Redpath.  If  there  is  a  person  I  abhor,  it  is  a 
so-called  strong-minded  woman,  especially  those 
who  are  clamoring  for  the  ballot.  They  seem  so 
unrefined,  so  destitute  of  all  that  makes  woman- 
hood charming." 

"  I  agree  with  you  thoroughly ;  but  Elsie  would 
never  go  to  such  lengths ;  her  father  would  not 
allow  it." 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Mrs.  Chilton,  that 
your  daughter  has  quite  a  strong  will  of  her 
own  ?" 

"It  has  crossed  my  mind  occasionally,"  she 
said,  laughing;  "all  the  Chiltons  have  strong 
wills,  but  Elsie's  is  as  yet  in  subjection  to  her 
father." 

Mrs.  Chilton  began  to  feel  that  her  step-daugh- 
ter's prospects  were  in  jeopardy.  She  had  never 
seen  Aleck  Palmer  in  such  a  state  of  excitement. 
He  considered  excitement  extremely  vulgar  when 
manifested  by  others,  so  she  hastened  to  soothe 
him.  She  diverted  his  mind  from  the  subject  by 
showing  him  some  rare  pieces  of  pottery,  and 
gradually  drew  him  on  to  talk  of  himself  —  his 


THIS  WORLD,  AND  THE  OTHER  ONE.     24! 

temperament,  his  gifts,  his  poems,  which  he  some- 
times wrote.  Mingling  with  all  the  talk  was  that 
delicate  flattery  pervading  it  like  a  fragrance. 
And  when  Aleck  Palmer's  attention  could  once 
be  concentrated  on  himself,  he  forgot  everything 
else,  even  fair  Elsie  Chilton. 


242       READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES. 

IF  Elsie  Chilton,  sitting  so  cosily  in  a  low  rocker 
in  the  pretty  back  parlor  of  the  Remingtons, 
could  have  heard  the  conversation  which  was  tak- 
ing place  that  evening  between  Aleck  Palmer  and 
her  mother,  and  could  have  realized  its  portent, 
her  fair  face  might  well  have  clouded  with  anx- 
iety. As  it  was,  the  face  was  grave,  thoughtful, 
giving  the  impression  that  topics  of  importance 
were  under  discussion,  but  there  was  no  shade  of 
anxiety.  This  young  woman  believed  that  the 
,  lines  of  life  had  fallen  to  her  in  pleasant  places, 
and  not  the  least  among  the  blessings  for  which 
she  daily  thanked  God,  was  the  coming  of  the 
new  pastor  and  his  wife.  If  Aunt  Hannah  was 
praying,  as  John  and  Mattie  Remington  knew 
she  was,  certainly  her  prayers  seemed  to  be  hav- 


READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES.  243 

ing  rapid  answer.  The  beautiful  world,  which  had 
begun  insensibly  to  get  such  a  hold  on  this  fair 
young  Christian,  was  already  losing  its  grasp  — 
thus  far  in  a  pleasant  enough  manner.  Perhaps 
the  girl  had  inherited  from  her  praying  mother  a 
tendency  to  higher  things  than  had  for  years  sur- 
rounded her,  and  therefore  it  was  that  she  glided 
so  gracefully  into  her  native  element  so  soon  as 
she  recognized  its  presence. 

Whatever  was  the  reason,  Aleck  Palmer  was 
right  in  his  belief  that  these  "narrow-minded" 
people  were  certainly  weaving  a  spelf  of  influence 
about  her  stronger  than  she  realized,  and  more 
in  harmony  with  her  own  heart  longings  than 
she  herself  understood. 

Heretofore  Mrs.  Chilton  had  been  but  vaguely 
disturbed  by  it  all ;  there  had  been  the  impression, 
rather  than  the  knowledge,  that  some  strong  for- 
eign element  was  slipping  itself  in  between  her- 
self and  the  girl  whom  she  had,  through  all  these 
years,  so  readily  influenced. 

She  exerted  herself  to  place  Aleck  Palmer  at 
his  ease  and  in  harmony  with  himself,  and  suc- 
ceeded ;  but  all  the  time  she  was  carrying  on  a 
troubled  undertone  of  thought ;  so  troubled  that 
she  was  glad  when  the  gentleman  took  an  early 
departure,  leaving  her  free  to  think  and  plan  with- 
out the  embarrassment  of  keeping  it  all  beneath 
the  surface. 


244       READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES. 

There  had  been  a  little  added  ripple  of  discom- 
fort just  before  he  went.  He  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  long  years  of  friendship  between 
them  to  look  boldly  at  his  watch,  more  than  once, 
before  he  said  — 

"  May  I  ask  at  what  time  you  expect  Elsie  ? 
Or  is  it  to  be  my  pleasure  to  go  for  her?  I  sup- 
pose, however,  no  message  was  left  for  me,  or  I 
should  have  received  it  before  this." 

With  a  little  flush  of  anxiety  on  her  face,  the 
matron  admitted  that  Elsie  had  left  no  word  with 
her. 

"  She  was,  of  course,  not  expecting  you  this 
evening,  or  she  would  have  been  at  home." 

Despite  the  "of  course,"  there  was  an  element 
of  anxious  inquiry  in  the  tone.  Mrs.  Chilton  was 
already  beginning  to  wonder  to  what  lengths  of 
thoughtlessness  Elsie's  present  infatuation  might 
have  led  her. 

"Oh,  no,"  Mr.  Palmer  said.  He  had  made 
no  engagement,  other  than  the  tacit  one  that 
he  would  drop  in  when  he  could.  He  had  half 
expected  to  be  engaged  at  the  club-room  this 
evening,  but  had  been  happily  disappointed. 
.  "Then  you  might  go  for  her,"  said  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton, brightening;  "it  is  a  lovely  evening  for  a 
walk." 

A  long,  slow  walk  homeward  under  the  quiet 
stars  might  be  the  best  possible  opportunity  for 


READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES.  245 

soothing  the  evidently  disturbed  feelings  of  this 
young  man.  It  was  momentarily  growing  more 
apparent  that  he  needed  soothing.  Especially 
when  he  said  quite  stiffly  that  he  would  not 
like  to  intrude;  perhaps  she  had  made  other 
arrangements. 

"  Oh,  Aleck ! "  Mrs.  Chilton  had  said,  affecting 
to  laugh,  "don't  be  absurd.  As  if  your  presence 
could  ever  be  an  intrusion  to  Elsie!  You  don't 
deserve  her,  you  foolish  fellow." 

Then  she  rung  the  bell  and  made  inquiries  of 
Jean,  Elsie's  special  attendant  and  protege,  only 
to  learn  that  "Miss  Elsie"  had  directed  her  to 
say  that  Mr.  Remington  would  be  detained  late 
to-night  at  a  ministers'  meeting  away  down  town, 
and  that  she  would  therefore  remain  all  night 
with  Mrs.  Remington. 

"Then,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  as  soon  as 
I  came  home?"  Mrs.  Chilton  asked  sharply,  vent- 
ing her  irritability  on  poor  Jean,  who,  however, 
was  able  to  explain  that  she  had  spoken  of  it 
to  Mr.  Chilton,  he  having  come  in  first,  and 
that  he  had  said  "very  well,"  after  which,  she 
considered  her  duty  done. 

"  Then  I  may  as  well  relieve  you  of  my  pres- 
ence at  once,"  Mr.  Palmer  had  said,  as  soon  as 
the  door  closed  after  Jean.  "  I  ought  not  to  have 
remained  so  long,-  hindering  a  busy  woman ;  but 
you  see  I  was  feeding  my  heart  on  false  hopes." 


246       READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES. 

And  despite  her  gentle  appeal  to  him  not  to 
be  too  much  disturbed  about  the  whims  of  a 
young  girl,  who  had  been  fascinated  for  a  time 
by  a  phase  of  character  with  which  she  was 
unfamiliar,  he  went  away  gloomily,  leaving  Mrs. 
Chilton  extremely  anxious.  Something  must 
certainly  be  done,  or  the  next  one  knew  these 
two  young  people  would  quarrel,  and  some  of 
the  most  important  schemes  of  her  life  would 
miscarry.  You  are  not  to  misunderstand  Mrs. 
Chilton ;  she  was  no  vulgar  schemer,  trying  to 
get  rid  of  her  beautiful  young  step-daughter. 
The  threadbare,  and  it  may  as  well  be  confessed, 
generally  too  true,  story  of  miserably  unhappy 
relations  between  step-mother  and  step-children, 
is  not  to  be  repeated  here.  Mrs.  Chilton  was  very 
fond  of  her  step-daughter ;  she  took  a  pardonable 
pride  in  the  fact  that  Elsie  was  undeniably  fond 
of  her;  she  was  also  very  much  attached  to 
Aleck  Palmer ;  she  believed  the  two  to  be  exactly 
suited  to  each  other,  and  had  congratulated  her- 
self even  on  her  knees,  when  she  thought  her- 
self praying,  over  the  happy  issue  of  her  plans 
concerning  the  two. 

Now,  here  was  an  ominous  cloud  portending  a 
storm.  What  could  she  do  to  avert  it  ?  Easy 
enough  to  trace  the  producing  cause  of  the 
trouble.  It  might  be  ridiculous  —  she  was  half 
inclined  to  think  it  was — but  nevertheless  it  was 


READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES.        247 

undeniable  that  Aleck  Palmer  was  jealous  of  the 
Remingtons. 

"She  really  is  with  them  too  much,"  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton  told  herself  perplexedly.  But  how  was  it  to 
be  avoided  or  changed  ?  It  would  be  absurd  to 
warn  a  young  lady  like  Elsie  against  having  too 
much  to  do  with  her  pastor  and  his  wife !  Should 
she  venture  to  tell  Mr.  Chilton  just  how  Aleck 
was  impressed,  and  advise  with  him  as  to  what 
they  could  do  to  change  the  tone  of  things  ? 

No;  after  mature  deliberation,  she  resolved 
against  such  a  course.  Mr.  Chilton  could  be 
hauteur  itself  on  occasion.  He  would  be  sure 
to  resent  the  idea  of  Mr.  Palmer  finding  fault  with 
his  daughter  in  any  way ;  she  could  almost  hear 
his  voice  saying  coldly,  that  Elsie  was  certainly 
free  to  choose  her  friendships  as  yet,  at  least  with- 
out dictation  from  Aleck  Palmer ;  and  as  long  as 
they  were  so  entirely  unexceptionable  as  at  pres- 
ent, he  should  certainly  brook  no  interference. 
Pressed  in  that  direction,  he  would  be  entirely 
capable  of  saying  that  if  Mr.  Palmer  was  dissatis- 
fied with  his  choice,  a  way  of  release  was  open  to 
him  ;  he  need  not  fear  being  held  to  his  pledged 
word. 

No ;  Mrs.  Chilton  would  not  be  guilty  of  such 
an  unwise  movement  as  that.  Long  she  sat 
alone,  thinking ;  Mr.  Chilton  was  also  detained 
late  in  the  evening,  giving  her  much  time. 


248      READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES. 

When  he  came  her  plans  were,  in  a  degree, 
matured.  She  set  some  of  them  brewing  that 
very  night. 

"Elsie  is  spending  the  night  with  the  Reming- 
tons again,  Jean  says.  I'm  almost  sorry,  Rob- 
ert, that  they  are  getting  such  a  hold  upon  the 
child." 

"Why?  Most  people  would  rejoice  that  the 
pastor's  family  had  a  hold  on  the  young  people. 
They  are  unexceptionable,  certainly,  and  very 
interesting.  Remington  has  a  keen  brain.  He's 
the  best  preacher  in  the  city,  by  all  odds." 

"Oh,  his  preaching  is  well  enough,  I  suppose. 
Perhaps  it  might  be  called  'narrow'  in  some  lines, 
but  I'm  not  troubled.  What  I  think  of  is  their 
social  notions.  Mrs.  Remington  is  decidedly  old- 
fashioned  in  her  views." 

"Well,  old  fashions  are  better  than  new  —  some 
of  them.  I  know  scores  of  young  people  who 
would  be  greatly  benefited,  in  my  judgment,  if 
they  could  get  old-fashioned." 

"Oh,  of  course.  You  and  I  are  in  sympathy, 
Robert.  But,  you  know,  one  can  go  to  extremes 
with  old  fashions,  as  well  as  new.  Perhaps  I' 
,mean  that  she  is  narrow  and  peculiar;  and  our 
little  Elsie  has  the  material  in  her  out  of  which 
they  make  martyrs.  She  could  take  up  false 
views  and  carry  them  to  martyrdom,  on  occasion." 

Mr.    Chilton   left   off  the   effort  to   unfasten  a 


READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES.  249 

refractory  button,  and  faced  around  upon  his 
wife. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Augusta  ? " 

"Oh,  nothing  very  formidable.  I'm  merely 
thinking  aloud.  Elsie  is  young  and  impression- 
able. Let  her  once  get  the  idea,  for  instance, 
that  she  is  to  sing  nothing  but  psalms,  and  what 
will  her  glorious  voice  amount  to,  as  well  as  her 
influence  in  society,  which  is  more  important  ? 
Of  course,  when  one  adopts  extreme  views  in 
regard  to  any  question,  one  loses  influence  in 
circles  where  it  ought  to  be  used." 

"  What  leads  you  to  think  that  Elsie  is  in  dan- 
ger of  any  such  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  to  that  extreme,  perhaps ;  but  she 
sang  a  hymn  at  the  Merediths'  entertainment  last 
week  —  a  very  solemn  one,  indeed  —  and  threw  a 
gloom  over  the  entire  gathering,  as  you  may  imag- 
ine. Moreover,  she  declined  to  dance  with  young 
McMartin  the  other  evening  —  not  a  round  dance; 
a  mere  promenade  through  private  parlors.  Of 
course  it  made  Mr.  McMartin  very  conspicuous, 
as  he  is  young  and  easily  embarrassed.  I  am 
afraid  it  annoyed  his  father,  as  well.  I  am  won- 
dering if  it  would  not  be  wise  for  you  to  give 
Elsie  a  hint  that  you  would  like  her  to  be  consid- 
erate of  young  McMartin,  at  least,  for  his  father's 
sake;  but  I  do  not  know  that  it  would  do  any 
good." 


250  READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES. 

"It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  understand  you  to- 
night, Augusta.  Why  shouldn't  it  do  good  for 
me  to  express  an  opinion  to  my  daughter?  It 
always  has,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes;  but  —  as  I  told  you,  Robert,  I  am 
almost  afraid  these  new  people  are  inclining  her 
to  be  fanatical.  They  do  not  approve  even  of  the 
plainest  kind  of  parlor  promenades.  I  have  heard 
Mr.  Remington  say  as  much ;  and  I  have  noticed 
that  Elsie  has  declined  to  dance  several  times  of 
late.  I  am  really  afraid  they  are  giving  her  false 
ideas  of  life.  She  is  certainly  much  impressed  by 
them ;  and  they  are  young  and  unaccustomed  to 
thinking,  except  in  grooves.  They  are  just  the 
sort  of  people  who  would  find  it  difficult  to  see 
why  what  was  not  the  proper  thing  for  them, 
should  be  entirely  suitable,  and  even  desirable,  in 
a  young  girl  in  society.  Of  course,  it  does  not 
matter  to  us  whether  Elsie  dances  or  declines  to 
dance,  save  as  she  makes  herself  conspicuous  in 
an  unpleasant  way,  and  offends  people,  as  she  cer- 
tainly will,  for  she  has  been  very  fond  of  dancing, 
you  know  —  a  leader,  indeed.  Oh,  there  is  noth- 
ing serious,  Robert — you  need  not  worry;  only  I 
have  thought  for  Elsie's  sake  so  long,  I  cannot 
help  looking  ahead  and  thinking  now.  It  would 
seem  a  pity  for  even  a  pastor  to  have  a  stronger 
influence  in  the  family  than  the  father  of  that 
family,  you  know.  Of  course,  I  cannot  conceive 


READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES.  25! 

of  such  a  thing  with  Elsie ;  and  yet,  as  I  tell  you, 
they  are  peculiar  in  the  extreme,  and  one  never 
knows  to  what  lengths  such  people  will  go.  Per- 
haps if  we  could  interest  Elsie  in  other  lines  for 
a  while,  it  might  be  wise." 

And  then  this  wise  and  good  woman,  after 
some  more  solitary  thinking,  went  to  sleep.  I 
have  not  used  the  adjectives  in  sarcasm.  She 
was  a  wise  woman  in  her  way ;  she  was  also,  it 
her  way,  a  good  woman.  She  knew,  it  is  true, 
that  her  husband,  despite  her  advice,  would  woiry 
a  little,  but  she  also  knew  that  some  worrying" 
was  necessary.  Robert  Chilton  was  a  rich  man 
—  a  very  rich  man.  His  position  in  society  anc? 
in  business  was  assured,  yet,  like  business  men 
generally,  his  interests  were  more  or  less  involved 
with  those  of  other  rich  men.  There  were  day? 
together  when  it  might  involve  him  in  great  dis- 
comfort, not  to  say  embarrassment,  to  have  the 
senior  Mr.  McMartin,  for  instance,  feel  coldly 
toward  him.  There  were  also  other  considera- 
tions than  those  of  wealth.  Mr.  Chilton  hac? 
ambitions ;  so  had  his  wife.  He  was  a  leading 
man  politically ;  he  had  fair  hopes  of  being  even 
a  more  pronounced  leader  in  the  future.  He  had 
of  late  been  planning  his  business  with  a  view  tc 
leaving  it  in  other  hands  for  a  time,  should  he  be 
called  upon  by  the  people  to  fulfill  an  important 
trust.  He  had  let  this  feeling  come  to  the  sur- 


252        READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES. 

face  even  in  his  prayers,  at  least  in  the  family 
circle,  in  the  form  of  some  such  phrase  as  — 
"Grant  that  none  of  us  may  shrink  from  taking 
our  turns  as  servants  of  the  public,  whenever  the 
best  interests  of  the  people  shall  seem  to  demand 
that  we  so  sacrifice  ourselves." 

The  senior  McMartin  knew,  as  did  certain  other 
leading  business  men,  that  Robert  Chilton  would 
be  willing,  on  occasion,  to  "so  sacrifice  himself," 
and  it  was  perhaps  desirable,  for  the  sake  of  the 
people,  that  they  should  be  willing  to  aid  and  abet 
this  sacrifice  on  his  part.  Therefore  —  well,  I 
am  sure  you  see  the  point.  I  am  sure,  at 
least,  that  Mrs.  Chilton  saw  and  sympathized 
with  it,  and  with  all  the  other  and  finer  points 
involved. 

But  remember,  I  am  also  sure  that  she  had,  or 
honestly  thought  she  had,  Elsie's  best  interests  at 
heart.  Could  she  not  plainly  see  that  such  a 
course  as  Elsie  was  pursuing  would,  sooner  or 
later,  alienate  Aleck  Palmer's  affection  ?  Then 
what  a  life  of  misery  for  poor  Elsie ! 

The  curious  fact  is,  that,  before  she  slept  that 
night,  Mrs.  Chilton  distinctly  felt  this  thought 
thrilling  through  her  heart.  "There  will  be  no 
way  to  break  up  the  intimacy  between  them  save 
by  separation.  There  is  no  reasonable  place  for 
Elsie  to  go  at  present,  for  a  long  stay ;  and  even 
if  there  were,  it  is  not  desirable  in  her  present  state 


READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES.       253 

of  mind,  to  separate  her  from  Aleck.  Then  the 
other  alternative  is  to  get  rid  of  them  ! " 

I  have  put  it  in  bald  English,  but  Mrs.  Chilton 
did  not.  That  is  what  she  meant,  but  this  is  the 
way  she  told  it  to  herself. 

"A  daughter's  place  is  in  her  father's  house, 
but  I  really  am  afraid  of  their  influence.  Aleck 
is  far-seeing,  and  he  evidently  dreads  it.  Why,  he 
even  hinted  that  the  child  might  go  on  the  plat- 
form !  I  wonder  what  her  father  would  have  said 
if  I  had  told  him  that !  He  would  have  forbidden 
Aleck  the  house !  That  is  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  the  poor  foolish  fellow,  who  ought  to  be 
glad  that  he  has  so  sensible  a  friend  as  I  at  the 
helm.  But  I,  who  can  control  my  temper,  ought 
to  be  able  to  heed  the  warning.  The  point  is,  if 
their  influence  is  to  be  feared  in  our  family,  why 
not  for  other  young  people  ?  All  will  not  be  influ- 
enced in  the  line  that  Elsie  is  taking ;  very  few  of 
them  will,  I  presume.  Elsie  is  peculiar  in  some 
things ;  her  mother  must  have  been  a  strange 
woman. 

"What  the  others  will  feel  is  a  repellence  toward 
such  strait-laced  notions ;  just  what  Aleck  feels 
to-day.  It  is  an  unfortunate  thing  for  a  church 
when  its  leading  young  men  discover  that  they 
can  not  hope  for  sympathy  and  encouragement 
from  their  pastor,  because  he  has  lived  in  a  band- 
box of  Puritanism  ;  thought  in  circles  so  long  that 


254  READY    TO    MAKE    SACRIFICES. 

he  has  forgotten  what  young  life  means.  Really, 
when  I  think  of  it  in  that  light  I  cannot  but  feel 
that  we  have  made  a  serious  mistake  in  calling 
him  to  our  church. 

"What  is  brilliant  preaching,  after  all,  if  the 
young  and  emotional  are  to  be  alienated  ?  We 
might  better  listen  to  the  monotonous  droning  of 
poor,  dear  Dr.  Borne  all  our  lives  than  to  sacrifice 
real  sympathetic  influence  to  brilliancy  of  diction 
and  the  charm  of  eloquence.  Still  it  is  so  short  a 
time  since  they  came ;  and  they  have  been  at 
such  heavy  expense  in  settling  among  us. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  We  can- 
not sacrifice  our  children  for  such  paltry  consider- 
ations, it  is  true.  But  —  oh,  dear!  We  meant  it 
for  the  best;  but  I'm  afraid  we  made  a  sad  mis- 
take. And  I  suppose  a  mistake,  when  once 
acknowledged,  should  be  righted  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, no  matter  at  what  sacrifice  of  feeing." 

So,  you  see,  here  was  still  another  soul  who 
desired  not  to  shrink  from  " sacrifice"  when  the 
good  of  the  people  demanded  it ! 

Will  you  hastily  call  her  a  hypocrite  ?  Nothing 
could  be  more  entirely  unjust. 

When  Mrs.  Chilton,  with  the  next  morning's 
light,  went  about  her  partially-perfected  plans  for 
"correcting  a  mistake,"  she  thought  as  emphati- 
cally as  ever  St.  Paul  did,  that  she  was  "  doing 
God  service." 


READY  TO  MAKE  SACRIFICES.        255 

Had  she  prayed  about  it  ?  Yes,  she  thought 
she  had  ;  she  had  gone  on  her  knees,  and  said  that 
she  wished  to  be  so  directed  that  what  they  had  to 
do  might  be  done  in  no  spirit  of  bitterness,  with 
no  thought  of  malice ;  and  might  be  accomplished 
with  as  little  pain  to  the  feelings  of  others  as 
possible. 

You  will  observe  that  as  to  "what  they  had  to 
do,"  she  seemed  to  have  made  up  her  mind  with- 
out the  help  of  prayer. 


256  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 


BY    MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


"WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

AUNT  Hannah  was  sitting  by  the  fire  one 
November  evening,  her  mending-basket  by 
her  side,  her  book  open  on  the  table  before  her. 
She  would  read  a  paragraph  or  a  page,  and  then, 
while  she  neatly  fitted  a  patch  on  a  tablecloth  or 
darned  a  stocking,  she  would  think  over  what  she 
had  read.  It  took  a  long  time  to  go  through  a 
book  at  this  rate.  But  she  did  not  always  go 
through  them.  She  read  after  her  own  peculiar 
fashion  whatever  suited  her  mood.  Sometimes 
for  days  at  a  time  it  was  history,  then  biogra- 
phy. She  would  even  on  occasion  take  a  dip  into 
a  novel,  although  she  declared  she  could  sit  and 
think  over  ever  so  many  real  stories,  that  had  as 
much  romance  and  tragedy  in  them  as  could  be 
found  in  any  novel.  She  was  fond  of  poetry, 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  2$? 

and  read  her  husband's  old  time-stained  Milton, 
Young,  Wordsworth  and  Shakespeare,  relishing 
them  as  she  had  not  in  her  younger  years,  when 
her  mind  was  more  filled  with  household  cares. 
There  was  another  secret  reason  why  she  would 
have  read  those  books.  Nathaniel  had  feared  she 
did  not  appreciate  them,  because  in  their  early 
married  life  she  had  seemed  to  enjoy  money-mak- 
ing far  more  than  literature.  So  there  always 
mingled  with  the  reading  a  slightly  remorseful 
feeling,  as  if  she  could  hear  his  voice  saying, 
protestingly  — 

"  Oh,  Hannah,  don't  work  all  the  time !  We 
have  minds  and  souls  as  well  as  bodies,  and  it  is 
our  duty  to  care  for  them,  too." 

What  a  clod  she  had  been  in  those  days,  to 
think  that  time  and  money  spent  on  books  were 
wasted,  and  had  not  known  that  Nathaniel  was  so 
rare  a  man  until  he  was  gone.  If  only  she  had 
improved  those  long  winter  evenings  spent  with 
him ;  he  was  so  wise.  But  she  must  make  it  up, 
and  she  would,  too.  He  should  know,  when  they 
met  some  morning  in  that  other  country,  that  she 
knew  his  books  and  had  not  lived  the  life  of  a 
drudge. 

John  had  told  her  about  a  certain  literary 
society,  and  had  sent  her  a  set  of  the  books.  Ah, 
this  was  the  very  thing.  She  could  be  more  sys- 
tematic. Nathaniel  was  very  systematic,  and  she 


2$8  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

feared  it  had  grieved  him  somewhat  that  she  was 
not.  Consequently,  since  the  day  her  husband 
had  gone  out  of  this  life  into  that  mysterious 
other  one,  Mrs.  Adams  had  been  the  very  soul  of 
system,  except  in  her  reading ;  she  had  not  known 
exactly  how  to  bring  that  under  rules,  and  had 
gone  on  in  the  same  old  desultory  way.  Now, 
here  was  a  regular  course  of  reading  —  certain 
books  laid  out  for  her  that  she  must  read  with 
forty  minutes  a  day  to  it.  She  could  just  about 
put  in  forty  minutes  in  an  evening.  She  winced 
somewhat  at  the  idea  of  making  out  examina- 
tion papers,  but  finally  reminded  herself  that  she 
had  always  been  able  to  tell  what  she  had  read. 
Why  could  she  not  just  as  well  write  it  down? 
So  Aunt  Hannah  was  fairly  launched  on  a  pre- 
scribed course  of  reading,  and  felt  exceedingly 
happy  over  it. 

One  book  looked  especially  appetizing,  both 
from  its  title  and  appearance.  She  was  glad  that 
she  was  to  begin  on  it  this  very  evening.  She 
would  read  the  introduction.  Nathaniel  always 
used  to.  The  very  first  few  minutes  spent  on  it 
sent  a  perplexed  frown  into  her  face  as  she  read. 
"  There  is  not  a  creed  which  is  not  shaken,  not 
-an  accredited  dogma  which  is  not  shown  to  be 
questionable,  not  a  received  tradition  which  does 

not  threaten    to   dissolve More   and 

more  mankind  will  discover  that  we  have  to  turn 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  259 

to  poetry  to  interpret  life  for  us,  to  console  us,  to 
sustain  us.  Without  poetry  our  science  will  be 
incomplete,  and  most  of  that  which  now  passes 
for  religion  and  philosophy  will  be  replaced  by 
poetry Our  religion  parading  evi- 
dences such  as  those  on  which  the  popular  mind 
now  relies !  The  day  will  come  when  we  shall 
wonder  at  ourselves  for  having  trusted  in  them, 
and  the  more  we  perceive  their  hollowness,  the 
more  we  shall  prize  the  breath  and  finer  spirit 
offered  to  us  by  poetry." 

"I  want  to  know,"  Aunt  Hannah  exclaimed,  as 
she  laid  down  the  book  and  searched  her  basket 
for  a  patch  of  the  proper  size ;  "  now,  that  is  queer 
sort  of  talk.  Speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Arnold ;  I 
know  of  a  creed  that  isn't  shaken,  and  doesn't 
threaten  to  dissolve,  though  it's  as  old  as  the 
world.  What  stuff  and  nonsense  !  I  should  like 
to  see  some  poetry  that  would  console  one  when 
all  he  had  in  the  world  was  swept  away,  or  that 
would  sustain  one  when  she  laid  a  baby  or  a  hus- 
band in  the  grave.  I've  been  in  all  those  spots 
myself,  and  I  know  what  sustains.  It's  what 
'passes  for  religion.'  The  matter  with  this  man 
is,  that  he  is  talking  what  he  doesn't  know  a  mite 
about,  same  as  if  I  should  undertake  to  write  a 
letter  in  Greek.  It's  a  great  pity  they  allowed 
him  to  get  into  this  reading  circle.  It  won't  hurt 
such  as  me,  but  some  young  things  will  like  as 


26O  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

not  read  those  words  and  say — 'Oh,  that's  the 
thing  to  believe,  is  it  ? '  And  it  will  have  an 
effect  upon  such.  If  I  knew  the  man  who  got  up 
this  course  of  reading,  I  would  write  to  him  and 
ask  him  why  in  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful, 
when  he  had  got  up  such  a  nice  thing,  he  allowed 
Satan  to  put  his  word  in  through  a  foolish  man 
who  didn't  know  any  better.  I  don't  care  how 
wise  he  is,  he's  a  fool  about  the  greatest  thing  irf 
the  world,  and  the  poor  soul  will  find  it  out  in  a 
terrible  way  some  day.  He  is  the  one  that  will 
find  'hollowness.'  instead  of  us.  May  the  Lord 
open  his  eyes." 

Aunt  Hannah  had  so  much  food  for  thought 
while  she  sewed  around  her  spacious  patch  that 
the  book  itself  got  no  further  notice  from  her  that 
evening.  Mingled  with  sorrow,  that  one  should 
be  so  blinded,  was  indignation  that  such  words 
could  be  printed  and  circulated — words  of  insult 
to  her  dearest  Friend.  But  then  came  that 
strange,  exultant  feeling,  understood  only  by  the 
devout  disciple,  and  she  could  smile  up  into  the 
face  of  her  Lord  with  deeper  content,  with  ten- 
derer love,  as  if  to  say — "Thou  knowest  and  I 
know  that  the  blessed  truth  lives,  and  will  live." 

Toward  nine  o'clock  Peter  returned  from  the 
post-office  and  brought  a  letter.  It  was  from 
John  and  his  wife  beseeching  her  to  come  and 
visit  them. 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  26l 

"We  cannot  see,"  wrote  Martha,  "what  is  in 
the  way.  Farms,  it  seems  to  me,  do  not  do  much 
in  the  winter  but  sleep,  and  you  can  surely  trust 
Peter  and  Dorcas  to  care  for  everything,  when 
there  is  so  little  to  be  done.  John  says  he  wants 
to  see  you  enjoy  city  life  awhile,  as  he  is  sure  you 
will." 

And  really,  there  did  seem  to  be  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  go.  Aunt  Hepsy  had  found 
the  loneliness  of  the  farm  intolerable,  and  had 
gone  to  spend  the  winter  with  a  niece,  who 
thought  she  was  willing  to  put  up  with  the  aunt's 
peculiar  infirmities  for  the  sake  of  having  some 
assistance  in  the  care  of  her  babies.  Things 
in  the  parish,  too,  were  now  on  a  very  good  foot- 
ing. Mrs.  Adams  and  Simon  Johnson  had 
another  interview  not  long  after  the  one  on 
that  afternoon  in  May.  She  asked  him  to  sign 
a  paper  that  time.  It  was  to  raise  a  certain  sum 
of  money  to  send  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brewster  away 
on  a  vacation  of  six  weeks.  She  also  offered  to 
pay  Simon  a  nice  sum  if  he  would  circulate  the 
paper  among  the  church  people.  This  he  did 
and  raised  more  money  than  was  asked  for. 
Then  Mattie  had  come  over  for  a  few  days  from 
Belleville,  and  brought  her  patterns  and  fashion 
papers  and  her  taste,  by  means  of  which,  and  the 
aid  of  the  country  dress-maker,  Mrs.  Brewster's 
dove-colored  cashmere  was  remodeled  into  a  styl- 


262  WITHOUT   ARE    DOGS. 

ish  suit.  And  then,  to  everybody's 
ment,  Aunt  Hannah  produced  the  desired  nurr. 
her  of  yards  of  very  excellent  black  silk,  ana 
a  handsome  gown  of  that  material  was  forthcom- 
ing. The  two,  with  "lace  in  the  neck  and 
sleeves,"  which  last  was  a  gift  from  Mrs.  Rem- 
ington, were  hung  in  Mrs.  Brewster's  closet. 
While  all  this  went  on,  there  were  sewing-bees 
in  Aunt  Hannah's  large  old  parlor,  with  good 
cheer  that  drew  the  hearts  of  the  people  together. 
They  made  shirts  for  the  boys,  and  did  all  the 
odd  jobs  of  sewing  that  had  accumulated  for 
months  on  Mrs.  Brewster's  tired  hands.  To  put 
the  climax  upon  her  kind  deeds,  Mrs.  Adams 
took  possession  of  the  four  boys  and  gave  them 
a  good  time  on  the  farm  while  the  father  and 
mother  were  away.  Since  that  time  no  tongue 
had  ever  moved  against  Mr.  Brewster.  His 
people  declared,  when  he  returned,  that  he  was 
ten  years  younger,  and  that  his  sermons  were 
better  than  ever. 

So,  considering  all  things,  Aunt  Hannah  had 
decided  to  go.  No  preparation  was  needed. 
Her  clothes  were  always  in  order.  She  had 
never  considered  it  one  of  the  virtues  to  go 
shabbily  dressed,  and  was  not  without  her  best 
and  her  second  best  gowns  made  of  good  material 
and  with  taste.  When  they  needed  making  over, 
they  were  bestowed  upon  some  one  who  was 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  263 

thankful  for  them ;  thereby  Mrs.  Adams  had 
no  garments  treasured  up  for  moth  to  corrupt. 
And  so,  although  the  fashion  of  her  bonnet  and 
the  cut  of  her  gown  were  slightly  quaint,  there 
was,  nevertheless,  an  unmistakable  air  of  respect- 
ability and  dignity  about  her.  Martha,  when 
she  met  her  at  the  station,  noticed  this,  as  well 
as  that  she  carried  herself  in  an  erect  way  for 
one  of  her  years,  and  had  not  at  all  the  look  of 
the  typical  country  relative. 

Aunt  Hannah  had  not  visited  a  large  city 
many  times  in  her  life,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
like  a  never-ending  panorama  or  a  continuous 
world's  fair.  Her  keen  observation  took  it  all 
in,  and  she  was  by  turns  admiring,  pitiful, 
amused  and  indignant. 

"  How  would  you  like  it,  Aunt  Hannah,"  John 
asked,  after  she  had  been  with  them  a  few  days, 
"to  spend  your  life  in  a  city  ? " 

"I  wouldn't  choose  it,"  Aunt  Hannah  replied, 
emphatically ;  "  I  should  like  more  elbow  room. 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  in  danger  of  making  the 
mistake  of  going  into  Mrs.  Smith's  when  I  got 
home  from  down  town,  and  sitting  down  to  her 
supper  table  and  thinking  it  was  mine.  I  don't 
see  how  you  know  your  own  house  here,  or  know 
yourself  from  anybody  else.  It  is  well  enough 
in  winter,  but  how  I  pity  the  poor  creatures  who 
have  to  stay  here  all  summer!  I  stood  on  the 


264  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

steps  this  morning,  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
long  street,  and  tried  to  think  how  it  would  be  in 
July,  with  nothing  but  brick  and  stone  as  far  as 
you  can  see ;  not  a  spear  of  grass,  not  a  breath  of 
air.  I  should  think  they  would  suffocate.  And 
there  are  the  very  poor,  who  maybe  were  brought 
up  in  green  fields.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  think 
of  it.  I'll  remember  to  pray  for  them  after  this." 

"  And  for  that,"  said  John,  "nobody  can  tell 
what  blessings  may  come  to  some  weary  soul  in 
one  of  these  streets." 

Some  types  of  character,  new  to  her,  Aunt 
Hannah  met  for  the  first  time  in  the  church 
receptions,  which  were  held  fortnightly.  She 
knew  for  a  certainty,  after  a  little,  that  all  the 
queer  people  did  not  live  in  Mapleton.  The  sort 
of  person  she  understood  least  was  one  who  had 
no  interest  in  people,  unless  they  were  rich  or  dis- 
tinguished. The  minister's  wife  noticed  one 
evening,  with  vexation,  that  dear  Aunt  Hannah 
was  seated  between  two  ladies  of  this  stamp. 
They  looked  her  over  in  a  supercilious  way  after 
they  had  been  introduced  by  the  pastor,  and  then 
ignored  her,  conversing  with  each  other  across 
her.  Their  airs,  however,  were  lost  on  that 
unsuspecting  woman.  She  was  so  accustomed 
to  being  honored  that  she  was  not  on  the  look- 
out for  slights.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
quite  content,  listening  to  the  conversation. 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  265 

"I  feel  quite  weary  this  evening,"  Mrs.  Del- 
ancy  remarked  to  Mrs.  St.  Clair,  as  she  sup- 
pressed a  yawn ;  "  I  was  up  with  Floy  the  greater 
part  of  the  night." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ;  what  was  the  matter  ? " 

"Why,  Floy  almost  had  the  croup.  She 
breathed  terribly.  I  was  very  much  frightened, 
but  I  placed  her  in  a  hot  bath  and  put  mustard  on 
her  throat.  Then  I  wrapped  her  up  warm 
in  blankets,  and  gave  her  mustard  every  hour. 
Floy  has  not  been  a  bit  well  lately.  I  think  she 
has  eaten  too  much  cake  and  ice-cream,  and  put 
her  system  out  of  order,  but  she  is  so  fond  of  it  I 
can't  bear  to  deny  her.  And  then  I  think  she 
took  a  little  cold  yesterday.  We  went  for  a 
drive.  I  did  not  intend  to  take  Floy,  but  she 
teased  to  go  in  such  a  sweet  way  when  she  saw 
me  put  my  hat  on  that  I  could  not  resist." 

"  Is  your  child  better  to-day,  ma'am  ? "  Aunt 
Hannah  asked. 

Mrs.  Delancy  elevated  her  eyebrows  in  surprise, 
and  said  in  freezing  tones — "You  must  have 
been  misinformed,  madame ;  my  child  has  not 
been  ill,"  then  turned  again  to  Mrs.  St.  Clair  — 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  a  lovely  present  Floy 
received  yesterday.  Alexandrina  Wetherington 
sent  her  a  lovely  blanket,  sky-blue  plush,  embroid- 
ered with  gold  braid,  with  her  monogram  in  scar- 
let in  one  corner.  It's  a  perfectly  elegant  thing. 


266  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

I'm  in  haste  to  take  her  out  for  an  airing,  so  she 
can  display  it." 

"How  lovely!"  Mrs.  St.  Clair  murmured. 
"That  reminds  me  to  tell  you  that  Claude  bought 
a  beautiful  collar  for  Bernard.  It  is  hammered 
silver,  and  his  name,  '  Bernard,'  is  in  German  text 
letters.  It  has  a  silver  chain,  and  is  really  quite  a 
unique  thing.  It  was  made  to  order,  and  so  there 
is  not  another  like  it  in  the  city." 

Mrs.  Delancy  was  mentally  resolving  to  see 
that  collar  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  and  have 
one  manufactured  that  would  far  outshine  it. 

"  Bernard  is  getting  to  be  a  sad  rogue.  Let  me 
tell  you  what  he  did  yesterday.  My  hat  had  just 
come  home  from  Madame  Oliver's,  and  I  had  left 
it  on  my  bed  while  I  went  down  to  dinner.  I 
thought  Bernard  was  in  the  nursery.  When  I 
went  back  up-stairs,  what  a  sight  did  I  behold ! 
My  elegant  hat  —  it  was  brown,  trimmed  with 
lovely  little  brown  birds  —  was  torn  into  shreds 
and  strewn  over  the  floor,  the  birds  were  utterly 
ruined  and  the  feathers  flying  in  every  direction  ! 
And  there  was  Bernard  frolicking  about  in  great 
glee.  He  ran  under  the  bed  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me.  I  was  so  overcome  I  just  dropped  down  and 
cried.  I  was  very  angry  at  Bernard  at  first.  I 
thought  I  should  give  him  a  good  whipping,  but 
the  dear  little  fellow  was  so  cunning  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  do  it.  He  came  and  got  up  in  my  lap 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  26/ 

and  kissed  me  so  prettily  that  my  heart  just 
melted." 

"I  know  just  how  you  felt,"  the  other  lady  said, 
sympathetically.  "Floy  jumped  up  on  a  light 
stand  the  other  day  and  knocked  down  a  lovely 
vase.  It  was  shivered  to  fragments.  The  poor 
creature  just  trembled  with  fright,  and  looked 
up  at  me  with  her  great  soft  eyes.  I  couldn't 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  punish  her.  And  don't  you 
think,  she  has  the  queerest  fancies.  She  will  not 
take  her  afternoon  nap  unless  she  can  lie  on  my 
bed.  I  put  her  in  her  own  little  bed  and  tuck  the 
blanket  and  spread  about  her,  and  the  next  thing 
I  know  she  lies  right  in  the  middle  of  mine,  look- 
ing quite  happy,  and  then  I  think :  '  Poor  creature, 
she  hasn't  many  pleasures ;  if  she  likes  that  best, 
do  let  her  have  it.' " 

"  It's  the  same  way  with  Bernard,  only  he  fan- 
cies for  his  dormitory  my  handsomest  large  plush 
rocker  in  the  parlor.  He  never  misses  an  oppor- 
tunity to  secure  it,  if  possible.  Another  queer 
freak  of  his  is  to  sit  on  the  piano,  and  he  has  the 
most  ingenious  way  of  getting  there.  He  climbs 
upon  a  chair,  then  to  a  table,  and  from  that  to  the 
piano,  and  there  he  sits  and  surveys  himself  in  the 
mirror  opposite.  He  takes  such  a  magnificent 
pose  and  is  so  immovable,  really  he  looks,  with 
his  peculiar  tawny  skin,  like  one  of  those  bronze 
pieces,  Oh,  he  ig  so  entertaining !  I  don't  know 


268  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

what  we  would  do  without  him ;  and,  as  we  have 
no  children,  he  rather  takes  the  place  of  a  child. 
A  house  is  so  dull,  don't  you  know,  without 
something  to  amuse  one,  and  really  a  pet  of  that 
sort  is  in  some  ways  more  satisfying  than  a  child." 

And  now  Aunt  Hannah  was  mystified.  If 
these  creatures  of  extraordinary  behavior,  who 
wore  blankets  and  collars  and  chains,  and  sat  on 
pianos,  were  not  children,  what  were  they  ?  Act- 
ually, they  were  dogs !  The  next  few  words  set- 
tled it. 

"Yes,  indeed,  that  is  so,"  Mrs.  Delancy  replied; 
"they  are  great  comforts,  but  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  anxiety  connected  with  them,  after  all,  I  sup- 
pose," with  a  deep  sigh;  "there  is  in  everything 
this  side  of  heaven.  I  am  so  anxious  about  Floy 
this  minute  I  can  scarcely  wait  for  refreshment,  so 
that  I  can  go  home.  I  am  always  thankful  when 
I  see  poor,  forlorn  little  dogs  on  the  street,  half- 
starved  and  wretched-looking,  that  dear  little  Floy 
has  such  a  good  home.  She  has  never  wanted 
for  anything." 

"Last  summer,"  said  Mrs.  St.  Clair,  "when  we 
were  in  the  country,  there  was  a  poor  dog  that 
nobody  would  own.  It  had  lost  its  master. 
Everybody  stoned  it,  and  nobody  said  a  kind  word 
to  it,  and  the  other  dogs  fought  it.  A  man  who 
lived  near  us  suggested  shooting  him.  Think  what 
a  brute !  One  day,  when  it  was  being  persecuted, 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  269 

I  just  picked  it  up  in  my  arms  and  carried  it 
home.  I  had  to  walk  a  half  a  mile,  and  it  gave 
me  a  terrible  pain  in  my  back.  I  was  ill  for  a 
week  from  overdoing,  but  I  felt  that  it  was  in  a 
good  cause.  I  kept  him  for  two  weeks  and  nursed 
him  up.  I  don't  suppose  that  poor  dog  had  ever 
tasted  beefsteak  before.  He  seemed  so  glad  to 
get  it,  and  he  was  so  grateful  for  everything  that 
was  done  for  him.  I  succeeded  in  finding  him  a 
good  home  with  a  farmer." 

"You  are  a  heroine,"  said  Mrs.  Delancy;  "it 
was  a  noble  act,  and  you  will  be  rewarded  for  it. 
Do  you  know,  I  tell  my  husband  if  I  die  first  I 
want  a  large  portion  of  what  belongs  to  me  appro- 
priated to  building  a  home  for  poor  homeless  dogs 
and  cats  that  wander  about  and  are  abused." 

"Precisely,"  Mrs.  St.  Clair  declared;  "I  feel 
the  same  way  myself.  I  have  always  had  the 
deepest  sympathy  for  the  poor  creatures." 

Aunt  Hannah  had  felt  the  rebuff  administered 
to  her  and  had  kept  silence,  but  as  the  talk  went 
on  she  forgot  it  again,  in  her  amazement  that  there 
could  be  two  such  foolish  women  in  the  world, 
and  so,  to  their  surprise,  the  next  remark  came 
from  her,  spoken  because  she  could  not  longer 
hold  her  peace. 

"  I  shall  not  leave  my  money  to  found  a  home 
for  dogs  and  cats  until  all  the  homeless,  hungry 
little  children  are  provided  for.  I  think  our  heav- 


2/O  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

enly  Father  intends  that  we  shall  be  kind  to  his 
dumb  creatures,  but  when  we  go  to  putting  them 
in  the  place  of  beings  made  in  his  own  image,  it 
is  another  matter,  and  not  pleasing  to  him.  I 
have  seen  a  good  many  half-starved  little  children 
wandering  about  the  streets  just  the  little  time 
that  I  have  been  here.  Did  you  ever  try  nursing 
up  any  of  them?  I  should  think  it  would  pay 
better.  It  is  enough  to  make  a  body's  heart 
ache  to  walk  about  this  city  and  see  saloons  in 
every  other  building,  and  watch  the  streams  of 
men  going  in  and  out,  and  remember  that  most  of 
them  have  wives  and  children.  Oh,  how  many 
little  ones  have  gone  to  bed  without  their  suppers 
to-night,  and  are  shivering  this  very  minute 
because  the  covers  are  too  thin.  Can  you  tell 
me  whether  there  is  anything  being  done  for 
them  ? " 

The  two  ladies  stared  in  silence,  with  that 
hateful  manner  which  some  people  know  how  to 
affect  when  they  wish  to  be  superlatively  rude 
and  disagreeable. 

Then  Mrs.  Delancy  arose  and  shook  out  her 
skirts,  saying,  "My  good  woman,  you  will  have  to 
apply  to  other  quarters  if  you  wish  to  know  about 
these  matters.  Probably  our  pastor  can  tell  you  ; 
he  seems  to  know  a  good  deal  about  that  sort  of 
people.  As  for  myself,  I  have  always  kept  as 
far  from  such  low,  vile  creatures  as  possible." 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  2? 'I 

Then  the  two  sailed  away  and  left  Aunt  Han- 
nah in  as  high  a  state  of  perturbation  as  she  ever 
allowed  herself  to  reach. 

"A  coarse,  impertinent  old  woman,"  Mrs.  St. 
Clair  murmured;  "I  always  thought  Mr.  Reming- 
ton came  of  a  low-lived  family.  Money,  indeed! 
She  looks  as  though  she  hadn't  money  enough  to 
build  a  home  for  a  mouse !  "  And  then  they  both 
laughed,  and  the  minister  had  two  more  enemies. 

A  young  lady  standing  near  heard  the  closing 
words  of  this  conversation,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
the  anger  and  contempt  which  Aunt  Hannah 
would  not  allow  hers  to  indulge  in.  These  were 
but  young  eyes,  though,  and  had  not  learned  as 
yet  to  observe  the  rule  of  a  "love  that  stiff ereth 
long  and  is  kind."  It  was  an  intense  face  which 
turned  itself  to  Aunt  Hannah,  a  bright  spot  flam- 
ing in  each  cheek,  and  her  form,  slight  and  tall, 
drawn  up  in  a  queenly  way. 

"Mrs.  Adams,  please  let  me  introduce  myself 
to  you,"  she  said.  "I  am  Fern  Redpath,  and  I 
know  you  are  the  dear  aunt  whom  Mrs.  Reming- 
ton told  me  she  expected.  I  have  been  away  for 
a  few  weeks,  or  I  should  have  known  you  before. 
I  unintentionally  heard  a  part  of  the  conversation 
just  now,  and  am  indignant  that  one  like  you 
should  have  been  so  insulted.  How  can  you  bear 
it  so  calmly  ? " 

" Never   mind,"    Aunt    Hannah    said,   smiling; 


2/2  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

"it  takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  a  world,  and 
I  suppose  I  seem  as  queer  to  them  as  they  do  to 
me.  I  dare  say  you  can  tell  me  something  of 
what  I  asked  them.  What  is  being  done  here  to 
stop  this  horrible  rum  business?" 

Aunt  Hannah  knew  she  had  found  the  right 
person  to  answer  such  a  question,  for  Miss  Red- 
path,  a  girl  of  fine  mind,  of  brilliant  attainments 
and  vigorous  health,  had  thrown  all  these  gifts 
at  the  feet  of  her  Master,  and  chosen  her 
career  to  fight  wrong  in  the  shape  of  rum  as 
truly  as  any  reformer  of  old.  Because  she 
moved  in  a  high  circle,  of  unquestioned  influ- 
ence, her  work  was  all  the  more  effective.  Per- 
haps more  effective,  too,  with  some,  because  she 
also  brought  to  it  youth,  ardor  and  unusual 
attractiveness.  She  sat  down  by  Aunt  Hannah 
and  told  her  with  enthusiasm  about  the  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  Union  —  what  they  were 
doing  and  what  they  hoped  to  do.  She  told  of 
the  gospel  temperance  meetings,  the  new  coffee- 
rooms  for  men,  the  home  just  opened  for  young 
girls,  and  the  free  kindergarten  for  little  children. 

"You  talk  as  if  you  had  been  at  the  work  for 
years,"  Aunt  Hannah  said;  "but  you  are  not 
very  old." 

"Not  very.  I  have  only  been  in  it  since  I 
left  school  —  a  couple  of  years." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  happened  to 


WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS.  2/3 

give  yourself  up  to  it  so.  You  don't  appear 
like  one  who  grew  up  in  it.  It  must  be  quite 
a  story.  Do  you  mind  telling  me  ? "  Aunt  Han- 
nah said,  after  they  had  talked  long  enough  to 
feel  well  acquainted. 

"  It  is  a  short  story,  Mrs.  Adams.  I  went 
into  the  work  for  very  shame,  when  I  saw  the 
enormity  of  the  drink  curse  and  how  some  who 
should  teach  better  things  are  helping  it  along. 
I  have  two  brothers,  and  I  awakened  to  find 
them  in  danger.  The  habit  of  drinking  had 
become  firmly  fixed  before  I  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing.  Father  died  when  they  were  young, 
but  they  were  doing  well  until  they  came  under 
the  influence  of  a  certain  minister  in  the  city 
where  they  lived.  He  is  a  fine  preacher.  They 
admired  him  very  much,  but  he  holds  peculiar 
views  on  the  temperance  question  and  does  not 
scruple  to  advocate  them  openly.  He  teaches 
that  one  may  drink  beer  or  wine  just  as  he 
drinks  tea  or  coffee,  and  must  control  the  appe- 
tite for  all  of  them.  My  brothers  did  not  find 
that  an  easy  thing  to  do.  They  were  on  the 
verge  of  ruin,  but  they  were  saved,  by  means 
of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  in  that  city,  and  they  are 
now  total  abstinence  men.  After  that  I  gave 
myself  up  more  entirely  to  this  work,  out  of 
gratitude  to  God.  I  still  feel  anxious  about  my 
brothers.  It  is  a  life  of  temptation,  and  I  have 


£74  WITHOUT    ARE    DOGS. 

temptation,  too.  It  is  so  hard  not  to  hate  that 
minister  who  led  them  astray." 

"I  should  think  so!"  Aunt  Hannah  said,  with 
vehemence.  "I'm  not  sure  but  that  is  righteous 
indignation.  Is  he  partly  idiotic,  or  is  he  a  bad 
man?" 

"Neither.  He  is  a  good  man  in  every  other 
way,  very  much  beloved  and  is  quite  scholarly. 
That  is  the  strange  part  of  it,  he  ought  to  know 
better." 

"  He  isn't  an  evangelical  minister  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  he  is  Dr.  Carter.  I  presume  you 
have  often  seen  his  name  in  the  papers." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Aunt  Hannah.  Then,  after 
a  pause  —  "It  must  be  a  case  of  the  devil  taking 
possession  of  a  good  man  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose—  and  he  couldn't  find  a  cunninger  way  to 
do  it  in  this  case;  now,  could  he?  There  were 
such  instances  in  Bible  times,  and  there  is  more 
of  it  now  than  we  think  for,  I  guess." 

But  now  Elsie  Chilton  was  singing,  and  that 
was  usually  a  signal  for  conversation  to  cease. 

"Let  us  go  nearer,"  Miss  Redpath  said;  "she 
,will  no  doubt  sing  something  that  you  like. 
There  is  the  most  remarkable  change  in  her; 
even  her  songs  are  different.  Doesn't  she  look 
more  like  a  beautiful  lily  than  ever  with  her 
white  gown,  her  golden  hair  and  her  yellow  sash  ? 
The  likeness  is  quite  striking." 


INTRICACIES.  275 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


BY     PANSY. 


INTRICACIES. 

A  CURIOUS  and  interesting  study,  as  well  as 
a  very  profitable  one,  could  we  be  per- 
suaded to  take  time  to  consider  it,  would  be  what 
large  results  are  often  produced  from  small 
causes.  As  trivial  things  in  their  way,  at  least 
from  their  starting-points,  as  the  dish  of  mush  and 
milk,  and  the  green  silk  bonnet  made  out  of  an 
old-fashioned  mutton-leg  sleeve,  were  contribu- 
ting to  make  life  a  perplexity  to  Mr.  Remington 
and  his  wife. 

Industriously  they  toiled  at  the  problem  how  to 
make  a  wealthy,  fashionable  church,  which  felt 
itself  in  need  of  nothing,  take  vigorous  hold  of  the 
Lord's  work  in  the  world,  with  eyes  single  to  his 
glory,  and  with  ears  attent  for  the  sound  of  his 


2/6  INTRICACIES. 

They  expected  difficulties  —  these  two.  They 
were  no  visionary  workers.  They  remembered 
that  the  Lord  himself  walked  the  earth  very  much 
alone  —  misunderstood,  spoken  against,  sneered  at 
by  his  enemies,  held  under  restraint  by  his 
friends.  They  remembered  that  "the  servant  is 
not  above  his  lord."  They  were  prepared  to  move 
slowly,  cautiously;  to  be  as  "wise  as  serpents," 
and  they  meant  certainly  to  try  to  be  as  "  harmless 
as  doves."  Yet  as  the  weeks  passed,  and  the 
months,  there  was  in  the  air  a  nameless  some- 
thing which  perplexed  and  disheartened  them.  It 
was  not  criticism  so  much  as  espionage  which 
they  felt ;  a  vague  feeling  of  being  watched  and 
commented  upon,  and  distrusted  almost,  in  locali- 
ties where  they  had  hoped  for  and  looked  for 
hearty  co-operation  ;  so  far,  at  least,  as  the  visible 
prosperity  of  the  church  was  concerned.  They 
were  perplexed,  and  they  were  in  a  degree  anx- 
ious, yet  they  tried  bravely  to  keep  their  burdens 
to  themselves.  Very  early  in  their  city  experi- 
ence it  became  apparent  to  Mrs.  Remington  that 
her  husband  was  to  be  overtaxed ;  that  he  took 
life  too  hard  to  be  a  physical  success  in  a  city ; 
that  he  shouldered  the  whole  heart-wearing  round 
of  burdens  which  belonged  to  the  poor,  and  the 
suffering,  and  the  sinful ;  that  he  let  himself  be 
weighted  down  by  a  thousand  bitternesses  which 
he  could  neither  lift  nor  control.  The  young  wife, 


INTRICACIES.  277 

wise  beyond  her  years  in  some  respects,  looked  on 
anxiously;  felt  certain  that  "John"  would  have  to 
drop  this,  and  let  up  on  that,  before  many 
months ;  yet  resolved  that  she  would  not  distress 
him  with  spoken  forebodings  about  anything,  nor 
dish  up  for  him  any  of  the  pettinesses  which  fell 
to  her  share.  So  she  treasured  as  bits  of  jewels 
all  kind  and  appreciative  words,  and  even  grew 
skillful  in  translating  kindly  glances  and  warm 
hand-pressures  with  which  to  rest  the  minister's 
heart  when  they  met  at  the  breakfast  table,  which 
was  now  almost  their  only  uninterrupted  bit  of 
leisure  time  together.  Their  home  life  was  con- 
stantly broken  in  upon  by  engagements  elsewhere, 
not  often  by  guests  at  home,  save  the  informal 
ones  —  the  brother  minister  from  an  outlying  par- 
ish who  dropped  in  just  at  dinner-time  because 
there  was  a  lecture  or  a  debate,  or  something  of 
interest  in  town  that  evening;  or  the  agent  who 
represented  some  church  or  library  or  association 
in  financial  distress.  Interruptions  of  this  kind 
were  so  numerous  as  at  times  to  almost  bewilder 
Mrs.  Remington,  and  lead  her  to  wonder  whether 
city  pastors  were  really  expected  to  keep  a  hotel 
for  the  benefit  of  their  brethren  in  the  suburbs, 
and  the  innumerable  company  who  represented 
some  "cause." 

Nothing  of  this  sort  troubled  John.     He  was 
social  by  nature,  and  accustomed  to   the  hearty 


2/8  INTRICACIES. 

hospitality  of  the  country.  His  invitations  to 
"come  in  and  take  dinner  with  us,  and  be 
ready  for  the  evening  in  town,"  were  as  free  and 
genial  as  the  most  timid  could  desire,  and  led 
many  a  perplexed  brother  in  the  work  to  say  — 
"What  a  warm-hearted,  cordial  way  Brother  Rem- 
ington has !  It  does  me  good  to  go  to  his  house." 
As  for  Mattie,  she  held  the  family  purse  and  paid 
the  bills,  and  the  extra  expense  which  these  infor- 
mal guests  entailed  upon  them  sometimes  rilled 
her  prudent  heart  with  dismay.  For  this  reason, 
among  others,  there  were  not  often  formally 
invited  guests  at  her  table.  It  appalled  her  to 
think  that  she  actually  seemed  not  to  be  able  to 
afford  to  have  company.  What  would  her  mother 
or  Aunt  Hannah  think  of  that  ?  The  other  rea- 
son, which  she  also  kept  in  the  back-ground  as 
much  as  possible,  was  connected  with  the  trouble- 
some thought  that  she  had  neither  the  appoint- 
ments nor  the  trained  servants  to  enable  her  to 
furnish  for  guests  such  entertainment  as  was  con- 
stantly offered  to  them  in  the  elegant  homes  con- 
nected with  their  church.  When  would  they 
ever  have  ?  Were  they  not  spending  money  in  an 
alarming  manner  every  day  ?  Were  they  not  also 
constantly  running  behind  ?  What  would  be  the 
end  of  it  all  and  how  could  they  help  it  ?  All 
these  puzzles  she  kept  resolutely  to  herself.  She 
could  foresee  that  the  time  would  come  when  they 


INTRICACIES.  279 

must  be  shared,  but  until  such  time  as  she  should 
have  something  to  offer  in  the  way  of  relief,  she 
would  be  silent. 

"It  must  be  that  I  shall  learn,  after  a  little, 
how  to  manage  so  as  to  have  the  expenditures 
less,"  said  this  poor  over-burdened  woman;  "or  it 
may  be  that  I  can,  by  and  by,  get  along  without  a 
second  girl.  If  cook  would  only  answer  the  bell 
and  do  a  few  other  little  things  beside  the  ones 
for  which  she  seems  to  think  she  was  exclusively 
engaged !  It  does  seem  as  though  two  people 
ought  to  be  able  to  get  along  with  one  servant. 
If  there  were  not  so  many  calls  to  make  and 
receive,  or  if  John  had  time  for  the  marketing — . 
which  he  hasn't." 

Day  after  day  the  problem  came  and  stood 
before  her,  and  waited  with  a  sort  of  sullen  tri- 
umph along  with  other  problems,  to  be  solved ; 
and  day  after  day  she  did  her  best  and  gained 
upon  it  not  one  cent,  and  pushed  it  resolutely 
aside  for  one  night  more  and  held  her  peace. 

Aunt  Hannah,  wise-eyed  though  she  was,  had 
not  discovered  that  financial  burdens  were  help- 
ing to  pale  the  cheek  of  her  favorite.  She  had 
lived  on  a  farm  all  her  life;  she  did  not  know" 
that  the  morsel  of  butter  and  eggs  and  milk  and 
cream  which  so  small  a  family  as  John's  could 
consume,  needed  to  be  counted  at  all.  His 
salary  seemed  large  to  her  —  very  large.  It  did 


28O  INTRICACIES. 

not  once  occur  to  her  that  they  could  be  in 
other  than  really  affluent  circumstances.  It  was 
she  who  had  installed  this  second  girl. 

"  Of  course,  you  must  have  some  one  to  answer 
the  bell,  and  run  of  errands,  and  do  a  dozen  little 
things  for  Martha,"  she  had  said  to  John,  with 
the  familiarity  of  one  accustomed  to  advising 
him ;  "  the  idea  that  that  child  can  trot  up  and 
down  these  long  flights  of  stairs  twenty  times 
in  a  morning  to  answer  a  book-agent,  or  a  tax 
collector,  or  a  gas-man,  or  a  water-man,  or  the 
land  only  knows  what  kind  of  a  man  —  there 
seem  to  be  all  sorts  —  is  not  to  be  thought  of 
a  minute.  She  will  let  herself  be  killed  and 
say  nothing,  under  the  notion  that  she  is  help- 
ing you,  and  you  just  mustn't  permit  it.  It  isn't 
as  though  you  were  a  poor  country  minister; 
now  that  you  have  got  to  Rome,  there  is  a 
certain  sense  in  which  you  must  do  as  the 
Romans  do." 

John  had  smiled  somewhat  constrainedly  over 
the  hint  that  he  was  now  a  wealthy  minister; 
he  was  by  no  means  blind  to  the  fact  that  they 
were  spending  a  great  deal  of  money,  though 
just  how  much  he  did  not  realize  as  his  wife  did; 
but  he  took  the  alarm  at  once  as  to  Mattie's 
overtaxed  strength,  and  said — "Of  course,  she 
must  have  more  help ;  that  she  had  calls  enough 
to  make  to  take  all  her  time  and  strength." 


INTRICACIES.  28l 

So  the  second  girl  had  been  immediately 
sought  after,  and  her  weekly  earnings  were 
drawn  from  Mrs.  Remington's  already  overtaxed 
purse. 

To  the  minister  the  revelation  of  affairs  came 
suddenly,  as  such  things  generally  do.  He  had 
been  closeted  for  more  than  an  hour  with  a 
brother  minister,  whose  church  was  twelve  miles 
away.  Mattie  had  chafed  over  the  length  of 
the  call,  knowing  that  her  husband  could  ill 
afford  the  time.  Sunday,  with  its  two  sermons 
and  its  Bible  class  and  young  people's  meeting, 
was  near  at  hand. 

He  had  accompanied  his  caller  to  the  door  at 
last,  and  then,  instead  of  returning  to  the  study, 
had  sought  his  wife  in  her  little  sitting-room  and 
dropped  into  the  chair  opposite  her  with  a 
sigh. 

"Poor  Hammond!"  he  said;  "he  is  over- 
burdened; he  has  bills  to  pay  to  the  amount  of 
a  hundred  dollars,  and  extremely  little  to  meet 
them  with.  I  suppose,  dear,  we  couldn't  help 
him  a  little  just  now  ? " 

There  was  a  wistfulness  about  the  words  that 
fairly  stabbed  his  wife's  heart.  What  a  shame 
it  was  that  a  minister  of  the  gospel  must  be  so 
cramped  that  he  could  not  respond  to  a  brother's 
call  in  his  time  of  need ! 

However,  she  controlled  as   much  as  possible 


282  INTRICACIES. 

the  sense  of  dismay,  and  answered  quietly  that 
she  did  not  see  how  it  was  possible  just  then. 
"We  have  given  more  than  our  tenth  this  month 
already,  you  know,  for  those  special  cases." 

"I  know,"  he  said,  quickly;  "I  did  not  mean 
for  a  benevolence,  exactly — a  loan,  perhaps; 
though  I  don't  see  how,  with  his  present  salary, 
he  is  ever  to  pay  it,  but  he  thinks  he  can. 
Still  I  made  no  promises ;  I  only  thought  my 
thoughts.  Mattie,  dear,  I  saw  you  start  just 
now  as  though  you  were  almost  frightened. 
Does  the  fear  of  a  possible  future  when  we  shall 
be  bankrupt  oppress  you  occasionally  ? " 

His  wife  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly ;  then 
he  was  quite  as  ignorant  as  she  had  half  feared. 
She  would  not  have  chosen  this  time  to  talk  the 
matter  over  with  him,  but  how  was  she  to  be 
sincere  and  evade  it  longer  ? 

"I  don't  think  a  possible  future  worries  me," 
she  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  "so  much  as 
an  immediate  present.  Don't  you  know,  John, 
dear,  that  it  will  be  three  weeks  yet  before  our 
next  quarter's  salary  will  be  due,  and  we  have 
a  bill  at  Delancy's  and  one  at  Wharton's  which 
we  cannot  meet  ?  " 

There  was  a  look  on  Mr.  Remington's  face  just 
then  that  his  wife  long  remembered ;  a  new  look, 
as  one  who  had  met  at  last  face  to  face  an  enemy 
for  which  he  had  no  courage.  The  "world,  the 


INTRICACIES.  283 

flesh  and  the  devil,"  in  their  most  aggressive 
forms,  John  Remington  felt  himself  ready  to 
meet,  unless,  indeed,  they  came  in  the  form  of 
debt;  from  that  he  shrank  with  a  feeling  almost 
akin  to  terror. 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  he  said  at  last,  and  then  his 
wife  knew  that  the  whole  matter  must  be  gone 
over  in  minutest  detail ;  there  would  be  no  ser- 
monizing and  no  sleeping  that  night  until  the 
minister  knew  to  the  fraction  of  a  penny  what 
they  had  done,  and  where  they  stood. 

But  these  and  kindred  perplexities,  though  they 
pressed  close,  were  not,  as  I  began  to  tell  you, 
the  chief  anxieties.  It  was  that  nameless  some- 
thing, that  want  of  sympathy  and  co-operation, 
that  being  met  with  silence  where  response  was 
expected,  that  indifference  (or  worse)  to  subjects 
which  should  have  thrilled  them,  which  weighed 
heavily  on  the  hearts  of  the  minister  and  his  wife. 
And  these  pressures  were  on  the  increase;  they 
could  feel  them  much  oftener  than  they  could  put 
them  into  sufficiently  tangible  form  to  talk  over 
together.  Some  of  the  things  they  did  talk  over, 
or  wonder  over.  Why,  for  instance,  had  Mrs. 
Delancy  withdrawn  from  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society, 
in  which  she  had  been  so  interested  and  for  which 
she  had  asked  Mattie's  special  assistance  ?  Could 
it  be  because  Mr.  Remington  had  been  obliged  to 
ask  in  much  embarrassment  that  the  bill  against 


284  INTRICACIES. 

them  be  allowed  to  stand  until  the  next  quarter's 
salary  was  due  ?  But  that  would  be  absurd ;  of 
course,  they  would  settle  it !  And  their  faces 
glowed  over  this  new  experience. 

Then  why  did  Mrs.  St.  Clair  make  a  little  party 
on  Wednesday  evening  —  their  prayer-meeting 
evening  —  and  invite  them,  though  she  knew,  of 
course,  that  they  could  not  come  ?  What  a  strange 
thing  for  a  member  of  the  church  to  do,  arid  one 
who  had  at  first  been  so  cordial ;  who  had  even 
assured  them  that  she  always  made  her  social 
gatherings  an  opportunity  for  her  pastor  and  his 
wife  to  meet  and  become  better  acquainted  with 
their  people.  How  astonished  would  this  pastor 
and  wife  have  been  could  they  have  realized  that 
the  starting-point  in  this  phase  of  the  disaffection 
was  two  dogs !  It  is  too  sadly  true  that  neither 
Mrs.  Delancy  nor  her  particular  friend,  Mrs.  St. 
Clair,  could  forget  the  conversation  over  Bernard 
and  Floy,  and  Aunt  Hannah's  share  in  it.  They 
could  not  forgive  Aunt  Hannah ;  do  people  ever 
succeed  in  forgiving  those  whom  they  have  insul- 
ted, unless,  indeed,  the  grace  of  God  takes  hold 
upon  their  hearts  ?  Neither  could  they  forgive 
Mr.  Remington  for  being  her  nephew.  Of 
course,  she  had  told  him  all  about  their  talk 
together,  and  tried  to  make  them  appear  ridicu- 
lous. Judging  of  other  characters  by  their  own, 
no  suspicion  of  the  fact  that  Aunt  Hannah  had 


INTRICACIES  285 

kept  her  own  counsel  about  the  dogs  and  their 
mistresses,  ever  entered  the  minds  of  these  two 
embarrassed  ladies;  so  they  nursed  their  petty 
chagrin  and  vented  it  in  a  dozen  small,  ill-natured 
ways  bewildering  to  the  chief  sufferers,  and  were 
excellent  material  for  Mrs.  Chilton  to  work  upon, 
and  Mrs.  Chilton  was  the  woman  to  discover  it, 
and  work  them  wisely  and  graciously  in  a  manner 
soothing  to  their  self-importance  and  helpful  to 
the  cause  she  had  at  heart.  Oh,  it  is  a  long, 
intricate  story,  with  a  hundred  interesting  ave- 
nues and  bewildering  by-paths.  I  long  to  tell  it 
out  to  you  in  detail,  but  must  not.  Does  any 
one  who  has  even  simply  looked  on  at  life,  with 
wide-open  eyes,  need  plainer  speaking  ? 

Nor  were  these  quiet  days  for  Elsie  Chilton. 
She  did  not  understand  her  step-mother's  plans ; 
she  did  not  know  that  they  included  her;  but  she 
felt,  rather  than  realized,  that  an  element  of 
unrest  had  entered  her  home.  She  began  to  be 
vaguely  conscious  that  for  some  reason  the  new 
pastor  was  not  in  as  high  favor  as  he  had  been ; 
that  her  father,  even,  resented  his  influence.  It 
was  a  matter  of  great  surprise  to  Elsie.  She 
had  been  accustomed  to  having  the  pastor's 
views,  or  perhaps  even  what  were  called  his 
whims,  graciously  deferred  to.  Now  she  learned 
that  she  must  move  carefully.  Here,  too,  the 
influence  of  apparently  trivial  things,  passing 


286  INTRICACIES. 

circumstances,  words  not  carefully  premeditated 
came  in  to  help  or  hinder  according  as  one  looks 
at  these  things.  For  instance,  Elsie,  sitting  in 
her  favorite  spot,  a  low  rocker,  just  in  front  of  and 
quite  close  to  Mrs.  Remington,  detains  her  pastor 
one  afternoon,  just  as  with  a  smile  for  his  wife 
and  a  bow  for  her  he  is  passing  through  the  room, 
with  the  question  — 

"Mr.  Remington,  I  wish  you  had  time  to  give 
me  a  long  lecture ;  or,  failing  in  that,  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  in  just  a  sentence  whether  you 
think  it  always  wrong  for  a  Christian  to  dance ;  in 
quiet  parlor  dances  I  mean  —  merely  promenades." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  whether  Miss  Elsie 
Chilton  thinks  it  is  wrong  ;  that  would  be  much 
more  to  the  point  than  what  I  think  on  such  a 
subject." 

"But  she  doesn't  know,"  half  laughing,  yet 
with  a  vivid  color  on  her  cheeks.  "  She  has  been 
upset  in  her  moral  status.  Two  people  who  think 
differently  about  almost  every  question  under  the 
sun  from  what  she  has  supposed  she  thought, 
have  come  into  line  with  her  mental  vision,  and 
she  is  half  lost  in  a  fog." 

"  She  has  an  infallible  guide ;  One  who  has 
promised  her  wisdom  on  all  points  where  she  feels 
her  need ;  and  she  will  take  no  step  in  any  direc- 
tion until  she  knows  it  is  the  step  which  she 
ought  to  take.  Where  she  is  in  honest  doubt  she 


INTRICACIES.  287 

will  give  her  Master  the  benefit  of  that  doubt 
until  he  has  cleared  it  away." 

"That  would  mean  that  I  certainly  should  not 
join  in  the  dance  this  evening  at  Mrs.  St.  Clair's, 
whatever  I  may  do  hereafter.  I  wish  you  would 
make  me  promise  so  much,  Mr.  Remington ;  that 
would  relieve  me  for  to-day,  at  least." 

"You  have  already  promised  so  much,"  Mr. 
Remington  said,  gravely ;  "  I  consider  you  pledged 
to  do  just  that  thing  which  I  said.  It  is  the 
pledge  of  every  honest  doubter.  I  have  no  objec- 
tion whatever  to  your  quoting  me  as  believing 
that  such  is  the  necessary  position  of  the  sincere 
Christian,  if  you  have  any  desire  to  do  so." 

Then  he  had  passed  out,  wondering  much 
whether  it  would  help  the  girl  to  argue  with 
Aleck  Palmer,  to  be  able  to  say  to  him  that  her 
pastor  approved  of  her  settling  these  questions 
with  her  conscience  before  being  called  upon  to 
take  decided  ground  on  either  side. 

Two  hours  later  Elsie  Chilton  was  at  her 
father's  dinner  table,  by  no  means  aware  of 
the  fact  that  her  mother,  while  that  gentleman 
was  making  a  hasty  dinner  toilet,  had  said  to 
him  — 

"  Robert,  if  you  care  to  have  Elsie  accept  any 
courtesies  from  young  McMartin,  perhaps  it 
would  be  as  well  to  mention  it.  The  St.  Clairs 
have  company  this  evening,  you  know,  and  he  will 


288  INTRICACIES. 

be  there,  of  course.  He  is  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  St. 
Clair." 

"Why  shouldn't  she  be  courteous  to  him? 
She  has  been  brought  up  to  comply  with  the 
ordinary  regulations  of  social  life,  I  believe." 

"  I  know,  Robert,  but  you  do  not  realize  what  a 
strain  there  is  upon  the  child ;  it  is  hard  for  her 
to  be  natural  just  now.  She  has  just  come  from 
the  parsonage,  and  I  have  not  a  doubt  but  that 
the  evening's  programme  has  been  gone  over  and 
she  has  received  her  directions  from  a  couple  who 
have  the  narrowest  and  most  unreasonable  views 
in  regard  to  social  life  of  any  persons  I  ever  met. 
They  are  trying  to  make  your  daughter  over  again, 
Mr.  Chilton ;  and  I  am  afraid  they  are  succeeding 
to  a  degree  that  will  be  annoying  to  you  in  the 
future." 

Mr.  Chilton's  head  was  buried  in  the  marble 
basin  by  this  time,  and  the  reply  which  he  growled 
was  unintelligible ;  but  his  wife  was  satisfied,  and 
not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  him  address  Elsie 
abruptly  at  the  dinner  table  — 

"By  the  way,  Elsie,  I  want  you  to  dance  with 
young  McMartin  to-night,  provided  you  are  invited, 
of  course.  I  have  special  reasons  for  trying  to 
help  him  to  enjoy  life  just  now;  and  a  little  kind- 
ness from  you,  occasionally,  will  go  a  great  way 
toward  it." 

"Papa,  I'll  help  him  have  as  pleasant  a  time  as 


INTRICACIES.  289 

I  can,  of  course ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  dance  this 
evening." 

"Why  not?  Are  you  ill?  If  so,  stay  away 
altogether." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  am  quite  well,  and  have  accepted 
the  invitation  ;  but  I"  — 

He  interrupted  her. 

"Then  remember  I  desire  you  to  dance;  not 
only  with  McMartin,  but  with  others  who  ask.  I 
object  to  any  such  conspicuousness  as  having  my 
daughter  attend  a  dancing  party,  and  refusing  to 
join  in  the  amusement;  I  wonder  that  your  good 
taste  doesn't  object  to  such  a  course." 

"  Papa,  it  is  not  entirely  a  dancing  party ;  there 
are  others  who  do  not  dance." 

"Never  mind  if  there  are;  you  are  not  one  of 
them.  You  have  always  danced,  and  been  a 
leader,  and  to  do  otherwise  now  marks  you  for 
criticism.  I  don't  often  interfere  with  your  whims, 
but  you  are  to  understand  that  I  have  interfered. 
You  are  to  be  among  the  dancers  to-night." 

Mrs.  Chilton  was  distressed ;  this  was  not  at  all 
as  she  would  have  managed  matters ;  it  was  not  in 
keeping  with  her  husband's  usual  good  judgment. 
As  for  Elsie,  the  glow  on  her  cheeks  was  painful; 
yet  she  controlled  her  voice  and  manner  and  spoke 
gently  — 

"Papa,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  did  not  know 
that  you  cared  in  the  least  as  to  how  I  amused 


2QO  INTRICACIES. 

myself,  and  I  have  promised  not  to  dance  this 
evening." 

"Whom  have  you  promised,  pray?" 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation.  Mr.  Chil- 
ton's  voice  was  loud,  most  unnecessarily  loud;  the 
servant  who  had  been  dismissed  from  attendance 
by  the  wise  forethought  of  Mrs.  Chilton,  and  who 
was  waiting  in  the  next  room  the  call  of  the  bell, 
must  certainly  be  able  to  hear.  Elsie  did  not 
know  how  to  reply ;  her  first  thought  had  been  to 
say  firmly,  steadily  —  "The  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 
It  was  He,  of  course,  whom  her  pastor  meant ;  but 
Elsie  Chilton  had  not  been  brought  up  to  speak 
thus  freely  of  her  Guide.  The  whole  subject  of 
religion  had  been  relegated  to  the  privacy  of  one's 
own  room;  it  would  be  judged  indecorous,  per- 
haps even  sacrilegious,  for  her  to  make  such  reply  ; 
there  was  certainly  a  secondary  sense  in  which  she 
had  promised  her  pastor;  he  had  said  that  he 
expected  so  much  of  her.  Had  Elsie  been  aware 
of  that  talk  in  her  father's  dressing-room,  she 
would  have  understood  him  better  than  to  make 
the  reply  she  did ;  as  it  was,  she  said,  still  very 
gently  — 

"I  promised  Mr.  Remington." 

"  Did  you,  indeed  !  And  you  presume  to  put  his 
commands  before  mine,  do  you?  You  may  tell 
him  for  me  that  he  is  a  contemptible  meddling 
puppy,  and  if  ever  I  hear  of  his  interfering  in 


INTRICACIES.  291 

my  family  again  I  will  kick  him  out  of  the 
house." 

Elsie  had  never  heard  her  father  use  such  lan- 
guage before.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  his  elegant 
wife  was  also  exceedingly  annoyed,  and  feared, 
from  the  look  in  Elsie's  eyes,  that  he  was  doing 
irreparable  mischief  to  her  plans.  She  even 
ventured  a  low-toned  "  Robert,  remember  the 
servants." 

But  Mr.  Chilton  had  gotten  himself  started, 
and  was  not  to  be  stopped  by  servants. 

"And  do  you  understand,  my  young  lady,"  he 
said  again,  his  voice  in  no  wise  lowered,  "that  you 
are  under  orders  to  dance  at  the  party  this  eve- 
ning as  frequently  as  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing.  I  will  see  whether  I  am  not  the  head  of 
my  own  family." 

"  Papa,  I  have  made  a  more  important  promise 
than  the  one  I  mentioned.  Do  you  not  think 
that  a  promise  carefully  made  should  be  kept? " 

"It  makes  no  sort  of  difference  to  me  whom 
you  have  promised.  No,  a  promise  which  ought 
never  to  have  been  made  is  better  broken  than 
kept,  always.  I  want  you  to  distinctly  under- 
stand, once  for  all,  that  any  promises  which  inter- 
fere with  my  orders  for  to-night  are  to  be  broken." 

And  then  Mrs.  Chilton  took  matters  into  her 
own  hands,  wishing  she  had  done  so  ten  minutes 
before,  and  boldly  rang  the  bell  for  the  waiter. 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


BY   MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

IT  was  not  a  common  occurrence  for  the  Chil- 
tons  to  have  family  jars  at  the  dinner-table. 
It  is  true,  Mr.  Chilton  was  inclined  at  times  to  be 
somewhat  irascible,  but  his  wife  was  an  adroit 
manager.  She  was  skilled  in  turning  the  conver- 
sation at  just  the  right  instant,  whenever  unpleas- 
ant subjects  were  broached,  so  that  peace  instead 
of  discord  was  the  rule.  And  this,  not  because 
she  was  naturally  more  amiable  than  her  husband  ; 
she  might  say  sharp  things  in  private,  but  it  was 
vulgar  to  wrangle  before  others,  especially  ser- 
vants. At  the  same  time  Mrs.  Chilton  was  not  a 
quarrelsome  woman.  She  preferred  always  that 
life  should  be  without  frictions  when  it  was  possi- 
ble to  live  so,  and  yet  accomplish  her  purposes. 
Elsie  struggled  hard  during  the  remainder  of 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.         2Q3 

the  meal  to  maintain  her  composure.  She  could 
not  trust  herself  to  speak  again,  but  her  step- 
mother began  to  tell  a  piece  of  news  on  another 
subject,  which  relieved  her  from  the  necessity 
of  speaking.  She  managed  to  keep  back  the 
tears  till  she  had  escaped  to  her  own  room,  and 
there  they  poured  forth  in  floods.  She  had  been  a 
petted  child,  accustomed  to  take  her  own  way 
about  things.  This  sudden  and  violent  interfer- 
ence with  her  plans  by  her  father  was  bewil- 
dering. He  had  not  spoken  to  her  in  that 
authoritative  manner  since  she  was  quite  young, 
when  on  rare  occasions  he  had  thought  it  necessary 
to  employ  loud,  harsh  tones  in  checking  a  wayward 
fit.  Perhaps  the  one  being  in  the  world  whom 
she  loved  almost  to  idolatry,  was  her  father.  He 
was  usually  so  fond  and  indulgent  that  the  rough 
words  he  had  spoken  cut  her  like  a  knife.  What 
did  it  all  mean?  How  had  she  displeased  him? 
In  her  distress  she  entirely  forgot  her  engage- 
ment for  the  evening,  until  a  servant  came  to 
say  that  Mr.  Palmer  was  waiting  for  her.  She 
hastily  penciled  a  note  begging  him  to  excuse  her, 
saying  that  circumstances  had  suddenly  arisen 
which  would  detain  her  at  home.  He  seemed  so 
vexed  and  disappointed  that  Mrs.  Chilton  went  up 
to  try  to  persuade  Elsie  to  come  down. 

"What  is  all  this?"  she  said.      "Aleck  thinks 
your    conduct    very   strange,    no    doubt.     If    you 


294         AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

have  decided  not  to  go  out,  why  do  you  not  come 
down  and  see  him  ?  If  you  do  not  feel  like  danc- 
ing this  evening,  it  is  just  as  well  to  remain  at 
home,  perhaps,  since  you  have  been  so  foolish  as 
to  get  into  a  fracas  with  your  father.  And  yet 
I'm  afraid  that  will  not  do,  either.  Aleck  will  be 
offended.  Come  down  at  once  and  explain  to 
him." 

Elsie  almost  said  —  "He  would  not  understand 
or  sympathize  with  me  if  I  should."  But  she  was 
preserved  from  making  that  remark,  and  only 
murmured,  as  she  lifted  a  tear-stained  face —  "Oh, 
I  cannot  see  him  to-night." 

"Sure  enough,  you  are  not  fit  to  see  him. 
What  a  fright  you  have  made  of  yourself.  Such 
an  ado  as  you  make  about  a  little  thing !  Just  a 
perfect  child  you  are,  to  go  and  cry  your  eyes  out 
because  your  father  spoke  cross-wise  to  you.  But 
what  are  you  going  to  do?  Here  is  Aleck  insist- 
ing on  seeing  you  a  moment.  If  you  had  only 
told  him  you  were  not  well." 

"But  I  am  well,  mamma;  that  would  not  be 
true." 

"There  is  some  more  of  your  fanaticism.  You 
did  not  use  to  be  so  over-scrupulous.  I  do  not 
much  wonder  that  your  father  loses  his  temper. 
I  would  not  know  you  for  the  same  girl  you  were 
a  year  ago." 

Mrs.  Chilton  was  dressed  to  go  out,  and  Elsie 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.         295 

could  not  but  notice  what  a  very  beautiful  woman 
her  step-mother  was,  especially  when  her  graceful 
form  and  brilliant  face  were  set  off  by  black  velvet 
and  diamonds,  as  to-night.  Then,  with  a  sigh,  it 
came  to  her  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
beauty  and  elegant  clothes  were  of  so  very  little 
worth  compared  with  beauty  of  spirit.  How  she 
would  love  to  have  a  dear  mother  to  flee  to  with 
her  perplexities !  What  would  it  matter  how 
plain  her  dress  or  face  might  be,  if  only  the  wise, 
loving  mother-heart  were  there  ? 

It  was  certainly  true  that  this  girl  was  not  the 
same  person  she  had  been  a  few  months  ago. 
Then  she  would  have  resented  such  words,  and 
replied  with  haughtiness.  None  of  these  thoughts 
came  to  the  surface,  though,  as  she  said  in  gentle 
tones  — 

"  I  am  sorry  to  make  you  so  much  trouble,  but 
will  you  excuse  me  to  Aleck,  and  tell  him  that  I 
cannot  see  him  to-night  ?  Perhaps  I  am  foolish, 
but  I  cannot  seem  to  help  it.  When  my  father 
speaks  so  to  me,  it  almost  breaks  my  heart." 

The  words  ended  in  a  sob,  to  which  the  step- 
mother made  answer  in  her  very  coldest  tones  — 

"Elsie,  you  would  better  go  to  bed  and  stay 
there." 

Then  she  swept  down-stairs,  where  she  said  to 
Aleck  Palmer  — 

"The   dear   child   is   suffering  with   a    nervous 


296         AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

headache,  and  really  cannot  see  anybody  to-night. 
I  have  persuaded  her  to  retire  at  once,  and  proba- 
bly she  will  be  quite  well  in  the  morning." 

Aleck  Palmer  was  an  imperious  young  man, 
and  thought  much  of  his  dignity.  Mrs.  Chilton 
did  not  like  the  ominous  way  in  which  he  drew  his 
brows  together,  nor  the  utter  silence  with  which 
he  received  her  words,  although  she  made  them  as 
sweet  and  gracious  as  possible.  She  looked  after 
him  as  he  went  down  the  steps,  thinking  within 
herself  — 

"  What  a  fool  the  girl  is  !  She  deserves  to  lose 
him,  trifling  with  him  in  this  fashion." 

She  had  felt  vexed  enough  with  Elsie  to  tell 
Mr.  Palmer  the  whole  story,  but  restrained  her- 
self, resolving  that  nothing  should  be  done  by 
herself  to  imperil  their  relations.  The  Chiltons 
were  an  old  and  honorable  family,  but  the  Palm- 
ers were  older  and  wealthier.  An  alliance  with 
that  family  was  not  to  be  put  in  jeopardy,  and 
there  was  need  of  great  care  during  these  days. 
There  was  no  telling  what  queer  whim  Elsie 
would  take  next,  and  all  because  of  those  Reming- 
tons —  narrow-minded  people  —  who  had  more  zeal 
than  knowledge.  It  was  too  vexatious. 

It  was  the  next  evening,  after  a  day  of  unrest 
and  troubled  thought,  that  Elsie  went  down  to 
Mrs.  Remington's.  A  talk  with  her  pastor  or 
his  wife  would  help  her,  she  was  sure.  Aunt 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.         2Q/ 

Hannah  was  alone  in  the  back  parlor,  enjoying 
her  knitting  and  her  book.  Mrs.  Remington 
had  retired  with  a  severe  headache,  the  outcome 
of  twenty-seven  calls,  and  Mr.  Remington  was 
out. 

"But  sit  down  and  stay  awhile  with  me,  do," 
Aunt  Hannah  said,  pushing  a  willow  rocker 
toward  her. 

"You  always  seem  so  happy,"  Elsie  said,  with 
a  little  sigh,  as  she  sank  into  the  chair. 

"And  why  not?  Did  you  think  it  was  only 
young  people  who  were  happy,  my  dear?"  the 
old  lady  said,  with  a  brisk  air. 

"Oh,  no;  they  are  not  always  happy.  But 
people  who  are  growing  old  have  not  life  before 
them;  things  with  them  are  nearly  done  for  — 
this  world  at  least." 

"I  could  preach  a  long  sermon  on  that  sub- 
ject," said  Aunt  Hannah,  pushing  back  her 
glasses  and  bestowing  a  kindly  look  on  the  fair, 
sweet  face  upon  which  her  sharp  eyes  detected 
a  slight  cloud.  "I  could  tell  you  how  old  people 
have  more  leisure  and  ease ;  they  have  passed 
through  the  sorrows  and  trials  of  life  and  left 
them  behind.  It  is  all  very  well  to  be  young, 
and  to  be  starting  out  in  life,  but  it  is  nice  to 
be  getting  near  home,  too.  Don't  you  know 
when  a  ship  starts  out  on  a  long  voyage  the 
passengers  are  very  chirk  and  full  of  life  when 


298         AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

they  start,  but  they  never  are  quite  so  happy  in 
all  their  lives  again  as  when  that  ship  is  home- 
ward bound.  Now,  I  take  it  that  is  the  way  it 
ought  to  be  with  a  Christian  who  is  coming 
alongside  the  other  shore." 

"  What  a  pretty  thought,  Aunt  Hannah ;  I 
shall  never  see  a  ship  leave  the  harbor  again 
without  remembering  it.  That  is  a  consider- 
ation to  be  thought  of  —  that  you  have  gone 
through  the  trials  of  life.  I  just  begin  to  see, 
too,  why  you  should  have  had  troubles ;  so  that 
you  will  know  how  to  help  others  when  theirs 
begin.  I  have  had  such  a  merry,  happy  life ; 
a  good  deal  like  a  bird  or  a  butterfly,  until  I 
began  to  try  to  be  a  more  earnest  Christian. 
Now  troubles  seem  to  be  springing  up  all  about 
me.  I  have  so  many  temptations,  and  I  am  full 
of  perplexities  and  doubts.  Don't  you  think 
that  is  strange?" 

"Not  a  bit.  As  long  as  people  live  careless 
lives,  Satan  is  not  going  to  trouble  his  head  with 
them.  It  is  those  who  are  striving  to  follow 
closely  he  is  most  concerned  about." 

"What  shall  one  do,  Aunt  Hannah,  in  a  case 
of  this  kind  ?  Suppose  a  girl  has  come  to  feel 
that  certain  amusements  interfere  with  her  spirit- 
ual life,  and  her  friends  do  not  approve  of 
her  giving  them  up  —  really  insist  that  she 
shall  take  part  in  them.  If  she  persist  in 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.        299 

her  determination,  what  becomes  of  the  Fifth 
Commandment  ? " 

"If  the  daughter  is,  say  twenty  years  old," 
said  Aunt  Hannah,  "and  able  to  judge  of  what 
injures  her  spiritual  life,  I  should  say  she  must 
follow  her  conscience.  Christ  must  not  be  dis- 
honored, whatever  comes.  At  the  same  time 
she  can  so  honor  her  parents  in  all  things  else, 
and  be  such  a  good,  loving  daughter,  that  they 
shall  be  convinced  it  was  not  mere  obstinacy 
that  governed  her." 

Elsie  made  a  brief  introspection  just  then, 
and  pronounced  upon  herself  that  she  should 
have  been  more  cheerful  through  that  day  before 
her  father,  and  not  have  sat  in  gloomy  silence 
at  meal-times. 

"But,  Aunt  Hannah,"  she  said,  "such  a 
course  would  bring  so  much  trouble  into  families, 
and  how  unhappy  the  one  who  caused  it  would 
be!" 

"The  Lord  Jesus  never  promised  his  followers 
that  they  should  have  no  trouble  in  this  world. 
He  told  them  plainly — 'In  the  world  ye  shall 
have  tribulation '." 

"Oh,  why  cannot  people  see  things  alike?" 
said  Elsie,  with  a  sigh ;  "  it  would  seem  strange 
to  suddenly  start  up  and  condemn  amusements 
which  we  have  been  brought  up  to  think  of  as 
innocent,  and  which  all  one's  friends  hold  to 


3OO        AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

be  so.  It  would  make  one  appear  singular  and 
self-conceited,  as  if  all  but  one's  self  were  under 
condemnation.  Why,  Aunt  Hannah,  if  I  were 
to  take  such  a  stand,  I  should  be  fairly  perse- 
cuted by  my  friends." 

"'Blessed  are  they  that  are  persecuted  for 
righteousness,  sake  V'  said  Aunt  Hannah,  smiling 
down  at  her;  "'he  that  loseth  his  life  for  my  sake 
shall  find  it  V 

"If  you  knew  positively  that  your  heavenly 
Father  was  not  pleased  with  certain  of  your  prac- 
tices, what  would  it  be  right  for  you  to  do  —  hold 
on  to  them  or  give  them  up?" 

"  Give  them  up,  of  course,  "  said  Elsie. 

"Well,  child,  isn't  it  a  sure  thing  that  he  is  not 
pleased  to  have  you  do  what  you  feel  comes  be- 
tween you  and  him  ?  Why,  I  suppose  the  uneasi- 
ness you  have  felt  about  these  things  is  God 
speaking  to  you  through  his  Spirit  to  teach  you 
his  will.  There  can  be  no  more  doubt  about 
what  you  are  to  do  after  you  know  his  will.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  with  what  comes  of'  it.  He 
will  take  care  of  that." 

"That  is  a  short  way  of  settling  it,  Aunt  Han- 
nah, and  for  me  it  is  settled  —  the  question  of 
dancing  and  card-playing.  I  shall  give  them  up. 
I  knew  it  would  come  to  that ;  but  it  will  be  hard, 
on  account  of  what  I  shall  have  to  meet." 

"Yes,   my  dear,   martyrs   are  not   gone   out   of 


AN    EVENTFUL    AFTERNOON.  30 I 

fashion  ;  only  it  is  tongues  instead  of  flames  they 
must  meet  and  overcome." 

"  My  troubles  do  not  stop  there,"  said  Elsie, 
with  a  wistful  face  and  broken  voice ;  "  I  am  in 
great  perplexity  about  something  else.  Do  you 
know,  Aunt  Hannah,  that  the  one  to  whom  I  am 
engaged  will  pour  all  sorts  of  ridicule  upon  what 
he  calls  my  fanaticism  when  I  take  the  stand  I 
must  ?  We  have  talked  it  over  somewhat,  and  he 
is  not  in  the  least  in  sympathy  with  me  in  my 
desire  to  place  my  religious  life  on  a  higher  plane. 
Is  it  wrong,  do  you  think,  for  people  to  marry 
who  do  not  agree  on  important  things  like  this?" 

"  [How  shall  two  walk  together  except  they  be 
agreed  ?'" 

This  text  said  itself  almost.  Aunt  Hannah 
looked  startled  when  she  heard  it  coming  from  her 
lips ;  but  she  must  be  true,  and  she  added  — 

"Certainly;  if  there  are  any  two  in  the  world 
who  should  be  one  in  principles  and  aims,  it  is 
those  who  are  to  spend  their  lives  together.  God 
meant  it  so.  There  is  no  happiness  where  a  hus- 
band pulls  one  way  and  the  wife  another.  Why 
should  they  wish  to  be  together  unless  they  are 
in  harmony  on  what  you  might  call  the  keynotes 
of  life?  It  will  only  be  one  long  discord.  If  a 
man  and  woman  jar  each  other  before  marriage, 
a  few  words  spoken  by  a  minister  is  not  going  to 
change  them." 


3O2        AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

Aunt  Hannah  glanced  pityingly,  as  she  spoke, 
at  the  troubled  young  face,  and  was  moved  to 
add  — 

"But  God  can  change  people.  Mr.  Palmer  may 
come  to  think  just  as  you  do." 

"  Oh,  if  he  would  !  But  no  ;  if  you  knew  him, 
you  would  see  how  hopeless  it  is." 

"Dear  child,  you  must  pray  about  it  all,  and 
the  Lord  will  guide  you,"  Aunt  Hannah  said,  as 
she  gave  her  a  good-night  kiss,  and  while  she 
folded  the  girl  in  her  arms  for  an  instant  she 
silently  prayed  that  "the  dear  young  thing  might 
be  shielded  from  an  unwise  marriage." 

The  next  day  Elsie  started  early  in  the  after- 
noon to  call  upon  one  of  the  little  scholars  in  her 
mission  class  who  had  been  absent  for  a  long 
time.  Doing  something  for  others,  she  hoped, 
might  lighten  for  a  time  the  unwonted  depression 
which  weighed  down  her  spirits.  The  day  was 
fine,  and  she  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  for 
thought  which  the  long  walk  afforded.  She 
remembered,  as  she  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
dingy  tenement-house,  that  she  had  meant  to 
bring  a  few  flowers  with  her,  but  had  forgot- 
ten them.  Somebody  else  had  been  thoughtful, 
though,  for  on  the  pillow  of  the  bed,  where  lay  a 
white-faced  little  gin  of  seven  or  eight,  was  a 
lovely  bunch  of  roses,  and  Earle  Mason  was  talk- 
ing with  the  mother.  There  were  some  fine 


LITTL.E    NKLLII 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.        303 

oranges  on  the  table,  also,  which  had  arrived  when 
he  did. 

Mr.  Mason  was  superintendent  of  the  large  mis- 
sion school  which  little  Nellie  Forbes  attended. 
This  young  man,  from  his  busy  life,  abstracted 
two  hours  each  day  which  he  consecrated  to  phil- 
anthropic work.  Sometimes  it  was  done  at  his 
desk,  sometimes  it  was  in  the  shape  of  a  lecture 
on  reform,  and  again  it  was  a  call  upon  the  sick  or 
desolate,  as  on  this  afternoon.  A  wide  business 
career  had  opened,  but  the  two  hours  were  as 
faithfully  given  as  though  he  had  abundance  of 
leisure. 

The  child  had  been  hurt,  the  mother  told  Elsie. 
Her  spine  was  injured,  and  the  doctor  said  it 
might  be  a  long  time  before  she  could  walk  again ; 
in  the  meantime  she  would  suffer  much  pain. 

"You  will  use  this  for  her  comfort,  won't 
you?"  said  Elsie,  dropping  a  generous  bank 
note  into  the  mother's  hand  ;  "  I  shall  send  Nellie 
a  couple  of  pretty  wrappers  soon." 

She  thought,  as  she  looked  about  the  bare,  for- 
lorn room  and  noticed  the  hollow  eyes  of  the  sad- 
faced  mother,  that  a  good  many  more  things 
beside  this  should  find  their  way  there. 

Mr.  Mason  and  Elsie  walked  home  together, 
talking  of  the  family  and  their  destitution. 

"Has  Nellie  no  father?"  Elsie  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.     Did  you  not  know  about  the  acci- 


3O4         AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

dent  ?  I  suppose  the  poor  woman  dislikes  to  speak 
of  it.  George  Forbes  is  an  excellent  mechanic, 
and  makes  a  good  living  when  sober,  but  he  has 
been  under  special  temptations  latterly,  his  wife 
tells  me.  Since  the  large  saloon  near  the  foundry 
has  been  opened,  he  is  constantly  asked  to  drink, 
by  fellow-workmen,  so  that  for  the  last  six  months 
he  has  been  doing  badly.  He  has  spent  his 
wages  and  nearly  stripped  the  house  of  furniture. 
It  has  all  gone  into  that  awful  maw  which  swal- 
lows up  everything  within  its  reach.  A  few 
nights  ago  he  came  home  intoxicated.  His  wife 
had  gone  out  on  an  errand,  and  he  seized  Nellie 
and  flung  her  against  the  side  of  the  house  with 
such  force  that  it  is  a  wonder  he  had  not  killed 
her.  The  little  creature  was  crying  out,  '  Please, 
papa,  don't ! '  when  a  policeman  heard  her  screams, 
and  rushed  in  to  her  rescue.  She  may  feel  the 
effects  of  it  all  her  life.  That  is  just  a  little 
page  from  the  long  story  of  rum's  doings,  Miss 
Chilton." 

"Oh,  it  is  dreadful!  Poor  little  Nellie!"  said 
Elsie,  under  her  breath.  "Can  nothing  be  done 
to  stop  this  awful  business?" 

"It  may  be,"  Mr.  Mason  said,  "that  this  ward 
will  not  obtain  a  license  next  year.  We  are  work- 
ing hard  to  save  it.  That  will  benefit  this  family 
not  only,  but  scores  of  others.  There  are  many 
men  in  this  locality  who  would  be  sober  and 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.         30$ 

industrious,  if  the  accursed  stuff  were  not  placed 
in  a  tempting  form  before  them  every  time  they 
pass.  The  sight  and  smell  are  too  much  for 
them." 

"And  if  license  to  sell  is  secured,  then  there 
will  be  no  help?"  Elsie  asked,  anxiously. 

"Not  unless  we  can  break  up  the  establish- 
ment. If  we  could  get  property  owners  in  the 
ward  to  refuse  to  rent  their  buildings  for  this  pur- 
pose, it  would  be  a  great  kindness  to  the  men  who 
work  in  the  foundry." 

"Where  is  the  saloon?"  Elsie  asked,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  the  tall  buildings. 

"There,  on  the  corner,  in  the  brick  block." 

"Why,  why!"  she  exclaimed  in  astonishment, 
her  face  paling  and  flushing  by  turns;  "that  is 
my  father's  block.  He  would  not  rent  it  for  any 
such  low  purposes.  Of  course,  he  does  not  know 
it  is  being  so  used  ;  I  will  speak  to  him  about  it 
at  once.  I  am  sure  he  would  have"  been  obliged 
to  you  if  you  had  informed  him,  Mr.  Mason." 

Pity  for  the  guileless  girl  kept  the  young  man 
silent. 

"It  is  horrible,"  Elsie  went  on,  "that  in  this 
country,  so  boasted  of  for  its  grandeur  and  power, 
the  law  cannot  prevent  vile  places  being  opened 
on  every  corner  to  entrap  men  who  will  go  crazy 
with  drink,  and  then  half  kill  their  little  children. 
It  makes  me  positively  angry.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 


3C>6        AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

not  endure  it !  Poor  Nellie ;  she  was  such  a 
bright,  happy  little  creature,  and  now  her  life  is 
spoiled !  " 

Mr.  Mason  could  hardly  believe  his  senses,  that 
this  was  Miss  Chilton,  whom  he  had  believed  to 
be  a  mere  society  girl,  haughty  and  selfish ! 
Even  her  appearance  as  a  teacher  in  the  mission 
school  he  had  supposed  to  be  a  whim  of  the  hour 
—  a  spasmodic  playing  at  benevolence,  which  was 
one  of  the  modern  phases  of  society.  Yet  her 
eyes  were  actually  filled  with  tears  and  her  whole 
being  was  deeply  moved. 

"You  do  well  to  be  angry,"  he  said;  "it  is 
righteous  indignation.  Would  that  every  man 
and  woman  who  call  themselves  Christians  shared 
it.  Then  we  might  hope  to  wipe  the  curse  from 
the  land." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  know  very  little 
about  the  subject;  but  it  cannot  be  possible  that 
Christians  are  not  doing  all  in  their  power  to  put 
it  away  with  the  greatest  despatch.  You  talked 
just  now  about  their  obtaining  licenses.  Surely 
good  men  do  not  deliberately  give  permission  to 
anybody  to  sell  an  article  that  turns  men  into 
maniacs  !  That  would  be  too  absurd  and  incon- 
sistent. Is  not  all  selling  of  it  against  the  law? 
I  am  very  ignorant,"  she  added,  deprecatingly, 
as  she  saw  a  smile  hover  about  Mr.  Mason's 
eyes. 


AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON.         307 

"  I  was  amused  at  the  unconscious  irony  of  your 
remark.  One  would  naturally  think  as  you  do, 
but  such  is  not  the  case.  License  to  sell  is 
given  —  to  'men  of  good  moral  character'  is  the 
wording  of  it  —  by  the  payment  of  a  certain 
sum." 

"But,"  said  Elsie,  excitedly,  "a  man  of  good 
moral  character  would  be  ashamed  to  sell  any- 
thing to  Nellie's  father  that  would  make  him 
knock  the  breath  out  of  her.  He  is  a  murderer, 
and  the  man  who  sells  it  is  a  murderer,  and  the 
man  who  gives  the  license  !  " 

Again  Mr.  Mason  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
This  artless  girl  had  evidently  no  thought  that 
she  was  pronouncing  condemnation  upon  her  own 
father.  Then  he  said  — "  In  other  words,  it  is 
sin  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  it." 

"This  visit  has  had  one  effect  upon  me,"  said 
Elsie.  "Henceforth,  as  far  as  I  can,  I  shall  give 
my  life  to  help  to  take  away  this  evil  out  of  the 
land." 

Her  face  was  glowing,  and  the  look  which 
Mr.  Mason  bestowed  upon  her  was  admiration, 
blended  with  reverence.  Earle  Mason  forgot  that 
he  was  on  the  crowded  street,  and  possibly  the 
object  of  curious  eyes.  He  extended  his  hand, 
his  own  face  lighted  up  with  surprise  and  pleas- 
ure, as  he  said,  in  low  tones  —  "God  be  thanked." 
They  clasped  hands  an  instant.  Then  Elsie 


308         AN  EVENTFUL  AFTERNOON. 

raised  her  head  and  met  the  pair  of  eyes  which 
had  witnessed  the  little  scene.  They  belonged  to 
Aleck  Palmer!  They  were  very  haughty  eyes 
just  then,  and  his  bow  was  extremely  cold. 
He  passed  on,  and  Elsie  stepped  into  the 
car. 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  309 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

WHY  did  the  fellow  look  at  me  in  that  fash- 
ion, I  wonder?  I'm  not  aware  that  I 
have  said  or  done  anything  to  injure  him." 

Such  was  Earle  Mason's  mental  comment  as, 
having  seen  Miss  Chilton  to  her  car,  he  walked 
on  alone,  recalling  the  look  on  Aleck  Palmer's 
face  as  he  passed  them. 

Elsie,  on  her  part,  indulged  in  some  mental 
comments. 

"Now,  Aleck  will  be  offended.  He  looked 
unutterable  things ;  I  hope  Mr.  Mason  did  not 
notice.  Something  is  always  occurring  nowadays 
to  disturb  him.  Why  should  he  take  offense, 
though,  at  so  simple  and  commonplace  an  act  ? 
Have  I  really  not  the  right  to  walk  a  few  blocks 
with  a  gentleman,  and  engage  in  conversation 
with  him,  even  shake  hands  if  I  will  ? " 


3IO  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

A  little  frown  was  overspreading  her  face  with 
the  thought.  The  sort  of  jealous  espionage 
which  her  intended  husband  seemed  to  consider 
necessary,  was  wearing  upon  her  naturally  sweet 
nature. 

"If  he  cannot  trust  me  now,"  she  murmured; 
but  she  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  and  went  to 
a  scarcely  less  disturbing  thought. 

"What  an  idea  that  my  father  should  own  the 
building  where  they  have  a  saloon  !  I  suppose  it 
is  leased,  and  he  knows  nothing  about  it.  I 
wonder  if  leases  cannot  be  annulled  or  revoked, 
-or  whatever  is  the  term,  whenever  there  is  just 
cause  for  complaint.  Father  must  be  able  to  do 
something  about  it,  of  course.  The  idea  of  an 
officer  in  the  church  having  such  a  reproach  upon 
his  name !  How  strange  that  Mr.  Mason  did  not 
go  to  him.  I  suppose  he  is  not  acquainted  with 
my  father.  There  is  evidently  some  work  for  me 
to  do  at  once  in  the  cause.  I  am  glad  it  is  within 
my  own  family,  and  is  therefore  such  an  easy 
thing  to  manage." 

Saying  which,  this  young  simpleton,  who  was  so 
sure  of  "easy"  work,  stopped  the  car  in  front  of 
her  own  door,  and  was  presently  in  the  library, 
which  was  the  family  gathering-room,  to  find  her 
mother  in  as  much  of  a  flutter  as  that  elegant 
lady  often  allowed  herself  over  trifles. 

"Elsie,  where  have  you  been?     I   have  wanted 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  311 

you  exceedingly ;  nor  am  I  the  only  one.  Aleck 
has  been  waiting  for  you  for  the  last  hour.  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  are  rather  indifferent  to  his 
interests,  in  view  of  the  relations  between  you. 
I  would  advise  you  to  be  careful.  Young  men 
will  not  endure  everything,  even  when  they  are 
very  much  in  earnest." 

It  was  an  unwise  way  to  speak  to  a  girl  of 
Elsie's  stamp.  Her  step-mother  knew  it  almost 
before  the  ready  blood  glowed  in  the  girl's  cheeks, 
and  she  made  the  cold  answer  that  "she  still  had 
an  individual  existence,  as  Aleck  must  be  aware, 
and  was  not  conscious  of  having  done  anything 
that  ought  to  dicturb  a  reasonable  person." 

"Oh,  he  will  endure  it,  I  presume,"  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton  said,  trying  to  laugh ;  "  but  you  need  not 
frown,  because  he  is  extremely  fond  of  your  soci- 
ety. Love  is  not  so  cheap  an  article  in  these  days 
that  even  a  pretty  girl  can  afford  to  toss  it  about 
as  worthless.  But  I  was  not  waiting  for  you  in 
order  to  give  an  address  on  the  courtesies  due  to 
fiances ;  I  am  overwhelmed  with  engagements, 
and  perplexed  to  the  degree  that  I  do  not  know 
which  way  to  turn.  I  thought  you  might  suggest 
something  to  help  me.  Here  are  cards  for  the 
Emerson  dinner  on  Thursday,  and  an  evening 
promised  to  Mrs.  Potts  without  fail  during  the 
week.  Friday  is  the  only  one  left  for  that,  and 
the  circumstances  are  such  that  I  really  cannot 


312  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

refuse,  and  every  other  day  and  evening  for  the 
next  ten  is  crowded.  What  am  I  to  do  ? " 

"  About  what,  mamma?  I  do  not  see  any  unus- 
ual pressure  in  all  that." 

The  young  girl's  lip  had  curled  ever  so  slightly. 
For  some  reason,  whose  depth  she  did  not  herself 
fathom,  all  these  engagements  looked  so  utterly 
trivial  to  her  now ;  so  little  worth  getting  into  a 
pressure  and  an  excitement  over.  The  prayer- 
meeting  was  on  Thursday  evening  also,  but  her 
mother  had  not  mentioned  it  as  in  the  way  of  her 
engagements. 

"I  forget  that  you  had  not  heard  the  latest 
perplexity,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton.  "It  seems  that 
Dr.  Benham  is  in  town  for  a  few  days,  and  your 
father  is  resolved  that  we  must  entertain  him ;  in 
fact,  it  is  necessary.  He  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dignitaries  of  the  church,  you  know.  Your  father 
met  him  last  summer  at  the  seaside,  and  wishes 
all  due  honor  paid  to  him.  Now,  there  is  really 
no  day  in  which  to  entertain  him  but  Thursday, 
and  do  you  see  how  we  can  possibly  send  regrets 
to  Mrs.  Emerson  ?  One  meets  the  very  best  at 
her  dinners." 

"  Dr.  Benham ! "  Elsie  said,  with  a  lighting  up 
of  her  face;  "oh,  I  want  to  see  him!  Why,  he 
is  Mr.  Remington's  dear  friend.  They  went 
abroad  together  before  Mr.  Remington  was  mar- 
ried. He  must  be  their  guest." 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  313 

"  It  is  not  probable,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  coldly. 
"  Your  father  wanted  to  invite  him  here ;  but  he 
said  he  had  a  very  pressing  engagement  with  some 
friends  who  were  almost  like  brother  and  sister. 
Your  father  thought  he  meant  the  Lorrimers, 
probably;  he  was  out  riding  in  their  carriage. 
He  is  very  wealthy,  and  has  most  distinguished 
relatives ;  it  is  not  an  ordinary  case  of  a  mere  doc- 
tor of  divinity." 

"Mamma,  he  is  at  the  Remingtons,  you  may 
depend.  They  are  very  intimate.  They  exchange 
letters  every  week  or  two.  Mrs.  Remington  calls 
him  'Dr.  Joseph,'  and  Mr.  Remington  speaks  of 
him  as  'Joe'." 

"  Then  we  should  have  to  entertain  the  Rem- 
ingtons," Mrs.  Chilton  said,  the  perplexity  deep- 
ening on  her  face ;  "  that  complicates  matters 
still  more." 

The  light  kindled  by  Dr.  Benham's  name  faded 
from  Elsie's  face,  and  she  said  coldly  — 

"Why,  mamma,  of  course  you  would  invite  our 
pastor  and  his  wife  to  meet  a  ministerial  guest, 
even  though  he  were  not  an  acquaintance  of 
theirs." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  do  any  such 
thing,"  the  lady  said,  irritably.  "I  am  not  bound, 
I  suppose,  to  have  Mr.  Remington  always  at  my 
house  just  because  he  happens  to  be  my  pastor. 
I  never  carry  religious  observances  into  fanati- 


314  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

cism  ;  beside,  if  the  truth  must  be  spoken,  he  has 
made  himself  so  offensive  to  your  father  by  his 
unwarrantable  interference  in  family  matteVs  that 
I  doubt  if  he  will  be  willing  to  receive  him 
socially  very  soon." 

But  Mrs.  Chilton  was  mistaken.  Although  her 
husband  had  been  guilty,  in  a  moment  of  ill-tem- 
per, of  calling  his  pastor  a  "  contemptible  puppy," 
he  by  no  means  proposed  to  make  himself  con- 
spicuous in  the  church  by  being  openly  rude  to 
him.  It  was  discovered,  a  little  to  Mr.  Chilton's 
annoyance,  that  the  great  Dr.  Benham  was,  as 
Elsie  had  surmised,  the  guest  of  the  Remingtons, 
and,  of  course,  they  must  be  invited  with  him. 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Chilton,  in 
his  loftiest  tone,  "of  course  we  would  invite  them 
when  we  had  guests  which  it  is  proper  for  them 
to  meet.  I  trust  I  am  above  exhibiting  personal 
likes  or  dislikes  in  these  common  matters  of 
courtesy.  Because  Mr.  Remington  is  not  entirely 
to  my  taste,  does  not  relieve  me  from  the  proprie- 
ties which  should  be  observed  between  pastor  and 
people." 

All  this  sounded  exceedingly  well  to  Elsie. 
She  told  herself  admiringly  that  "father  was  so 
high-minded  and  unprejudiced."  And  then  she 
sighed  and  blamed  herself  for  having  misrepre- 
sented her  pastor ;  unwittingly,  it  is  true,  but  so 
evidently  that  her  father  actually  thought  he  had 


EMBARRASSING   QUESTIONS.  315 

been  interfering  in  family  affairs !  It  was  well 
for  her^  and  for  Mr.  Remington,  that  her  father 
was  the  grand  man  he  was. 

And  Mrs.  Chilton,  who  understood  her  husband 
thoroughly,  listened  and  smiled,  and  knew  that 
the  lofty  sentence  meant  that  he  did  not  choose 
at  present  to  have  any  open  rupture  with  the  pas- 
tor of  Kensett  Square  Church,  and  that  he 
intended  to  maintain  his  present  position  as  a 
large-minded,  clear-brained,  judicious  leader  of 
said  church.  Also,  she  knew  that  some  opportu- 
nity must  be  found  for  inviting  the  Remingtons 
and  their  distinguished  guest,  with  certain  other 
distinguished  people,  to  enjoy  their  hospitality. 

It  was  no  sort  of  use  to  plead  previous  engage- 
ments ;  when  Mr.  Robert  Chilton  made  up  his 
mind,  previous  engagements  had  simply  to  move 
out  of  the  way.  Mrs.  Chilton  was  a  wise  woman  ; 
she  immediately  "moved"  the  engagement  which 
she  liked  the  least,  and  made  her  preparations  on 
her  usual  elegant  scale,  for  guests.  Among  those 
bidden  to  the  feast  were  the  Delancys.  Not  that 
they  were  remarkable  church  people ;  indeed,  their 
attendance  at  church  even,  was  exceedingly  irreg- 
ular, depending  upon  the  weather,  the  demands 
of  society  pn  the  day  before,  and  a  dozen  other 
trivialities.  But  Mr.  Chilton,  as  I  have  before 
hinted,  had  extensive  business  relations,  and 
needed  to  plan  his  hospitalities  carefully.  In 


3l6  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

fact,  they  often  had  to  be  made  up  along  with  his 
ledger ;  and  this  time  he  decreed  that  the  Delan- 
cys  were  on  no  account  to  be  omitted. 

"I  do  not  like  her,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  in  an 
annoyed  tone;  "she  is  a  coarse  woman  —  does  not 
know  how  to  conduct  herself  in  society.  She 
speaks  her  mind  on  all  occasions,  whether  it  is 
agreeable  to  others  present  or  not ;  and  she  has 
no  taste  in  selecting  proper  subjects  for  conver- 
sation. I  am  always  in  distress  when  she  is  my 
guest,  lest  she  effect  an  explosion  of  some  sort." 

"Then,  mamma,  why  do  you  invite  her?" 
questioned  Elsie,  who  was  studying  the  forms  of 
society  life  in  these  days  in  all  directions,  and 
finding  them  painfully  hollow. 

"Because  your  father  insists  upon  it,"  Mrs*. 
Chilton  said,  coldly;  "there  are  business  reasons, 
I  believe.  I  consider  it  very  unfortunate  to  be 
obliged  always  to  bring  the  warehouse  into  social 
life." 

But  Elsie's  brow  had  lightened.  Her  grand 
father,  she  thought,  would  not  have  his  business 
acquaintances  slighted,  even  though  they  were  not 
quite  to  mamma's  mind.  She  herself  did  not  like 
the  Delancys  very  well,  and  had  never  given  them 
much  attention,  but  she  resolved  to  bestow  extra 
courtesies  upon  them,  and  so  "help  father." 

Verily,  when  I  think  of  Elsie  Chilton  and  her 
father,  I  can  hardly  help  quoting  the  old,  almost 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  317 

worn-out  statement,  that  "where  ignorance  is 
bliss,  'twere  folly  to  be  wise."  It  is  so  beautiful 
a  thing  to  see  a  daughter  honor  a  father. 

In  due  time  the  feast  was  spread,  and  those 
who  were  bidden  made  ready,  most  of  them  with 
very  satisfied  hearts,  for  the  Chiltons  entertained 
elegantly.  It  is  true  that  Mrs.  Mattie  said,  in  the 
privacy  of  their  own  room,  to  John  — 

"I  almost  wish  Dr.  Joseph  had  not  honored  us 
until  after  the  Chiltons  went  to  Washington.  I 
am  beginning  to  have  almost  a  terror  of  visiting 
there.  Mrs.  Chilton  is  so  much  like  our  lovely 
white  cat  at  home,  whose  claws  were  hidden  in 
the  softest  and  whitest  velvet,  and  were  the  sharp- 
est of  any  cat  I  ever  saw." 

"What  an  idea!"  laughed  John,  as  he  struggled 
with  his  collar-button.  Then,  from  out  of  his 
masculine  mind  came  this  thought,  which  would 
doubtless  have  gratified  the  persons  in  question, 
could  they  have  heard  —  "I  do  not  think  you 
quite  do  justice  to  the  Chiltons.  Mrs.  Chilton  is 
worldly,  it  is  true;  but  I  have  sometimes  thought 
she  was  growing  dissatisfied,  which  is  the  first 
step  toward  a  change,  you  know ;  she  often  looks 
grave  nowadays,  perplexed  or  disturbed  in  some 
way.  I  cannot  but  hope  that  she  has  at  times  a 
longing  for  something  better  than  her  life  offers. 
As  for  Mr.  Chilton,  Aunt  Hannah,  without  intend- 
ing it,  has  prejudiced  us  both  a  little,  I  fear.  He 


318  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

is  immersed  in  business,  and  has  very  heavy 
responsibilities  which  weigh  him  down,  and  at 
times  make  him  irritable.  I  often  overlook  sharp 
things  that  he  says,  because  I  think  he  is  so 
absorbed  that  he  does  not  realize  how  they  sound. 
He  is  a  good  friend  to  us,  I  think,  in  his  way ;  his 
tastes  and  ours  are  very  different.  And  I  think, 
too,  that  he  means  to  be  an  earnest  Christian,  but 
the  world,  almost  of  necessity,  has  a  tremendous 
hold  upon  him." 

Mrs.  Mattie  listened  to  all  this  in  determined 
silence,  shutting  her  lips  firmly  lest  they  should 
insist  on  a  reply,  bending  low  over  her  shoes  with 
her  button-hook,  so  that  John  might  not  detect  the 
little  upward  curve  that  there  was  to  her  lips. 
But  after  a  moment's  silence  he  came  toward  her, 
took  the  button-hook  out  of  her  hand,  and  him- 
self finished  the  task  it  was  doing,  as  he  said  with 
that  tone  of  sweet  gravity  which  never  failed  to 
impress  her  — 

"  Mattie,  dear,  I  am  making  that  man  a  special 
subject  of  prayer.  I  long  for  his  awakening 
almost  more,  I  believe,  than  I  do  for  that  of  an 
unconverted  soul.  It  seems  to  me  at  times  that 
he  is  in  peril.  I  want  to  keep  my  heart  open  and 
sweet  toward  him  as  much  as  possible.  And,  dar- 
ling, I  want  your  help." 

Then  did  Mrs.  Remington's  face  grow  bright ; 
all  the  curve  went  out  of  her  lip ;  she  looked  up 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  319 

with  a  frank,  glad  smile  and  kissed  her  husband, 
and  thanked  God  in  her  heart  that  "  John  "  was 
just  the  high-toned,  unworldly  man  he  was ;  and 
humbly  wished  that  she  could  see  through  some 
things  not  a  bit  plainer  than  he  could  himself. 

They  went  to  the  feast  which  Dr.  Benham  had 
spread  for  them,  and  while  they  were  doing  honor 
to  it  that  gentleman  said,  in  his  clear,  genial 
tones  — 

"  Well,  Brother  Chilton,  what  are  you  doing  in 
your  city  to  fight  the  giant  who  is  stalking  all 
over  the  land  ?  I  suppose  you  meet  him  in  an 
aggressive  form  here  as  elsewhere.  It  becomes  us 
who  are  in  earnest  to  keep  careful  watch  of  the 
'Davids,'  and  see  what  stones  are  most  success- 
ful in  fighting  him." 

"Which  giant?"  his  hostess  asked,  in  her 
smooth,  gracious  tones,  as  her  husband  hesitated 
a  moment;  "you  clergymen  believe  that  their 
'  name  is  Legion  '  in  these  days,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"That  is  true,  Mrs.  Chilton;  but  the  Goliath 
who,  to  my  mind,  towers  more  than  head  and 
shoulders  above  all  other  evils,  is  the  liquor  traf- 
fic. You  are  especially  interested  in  putting  it 
down,  of  course,  as  all  Christians  are.  Is  there 
anything  new  in  your  line  of  work?" 

The  question  was  still  addressed  to  Mr.  Chilton, 
and  there  was  nothing  about  it  to  embarrass  him. 
Of  course,  he  was  a  temperance  man.  Did  he 


32O  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

not  often  pray  that  the  "tide  of  evil  flowing 
through  our  land  might  be  stemmed";  that  all 
good  men  might  unite  in  "wise  and  well-directed 
efforts "  to  overthrow  the  power  of  the  saloon  ? 
He  was  beginning  his  reply,  couched  in  language 
as  judiciously  worded  as  his  prayers  were  wont  to 
be,  when  that  uureasonable  fanatic,  John  Reming- 
ton, suddenly  broke  forth  — 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Benham ;  did  I  inter- 
rupt ?  Brother  Chilton,  I  am  reminded  of  some- 
thing I  have  been  intending  to  ask  you  for  the 
last  thirty-six  hours,  as  soon  as  opportunity 
offered.  Has  the  petition  reached  you  yet  for 
suppressing  that  infamous  saloon  near  the  found- 
ry ?  Of  all  the  snares  which  Satan  has  spread  in 
this  city,  that  one,  I  believe,  makes  me  the  most 
indignant.  Nothing  could  be  more  cunningly 
planned  than  its  location.  It  is  impossible  for 
those  poor,  tempted  men  to  go  to  the  cashier's 
desk  without  passing  the  door  of  the  trap.  And 
the  man  who  is  running  it  is  the  worst  character 
in  the  city,  I  am  told.  His  license  will  soon 
expire,  and  he  is  making  every  effort  to  secure 
another,  and  we  are  making  every  possible  effort 
to  circumvent  him.  What  decent  men  he  can 
find  to  sign  his  petition,  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know; 
but  the  Excise  Board  does  not  look  closely  into 
the  decency  of  the  signers,  I  presume.  Earle 
Mason  is  working  day  and  night  to  outwit  the 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  32! 

man.  He  is  a  '  David '  who  would  be  after  your 
own  heart,  Benham.  A  splendid  fellow.  Has 
he  been  to  you  yet,  Brother  Chilton  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

Elsie  looked  up  with  a  flush  on  her  face.  How 
harsh  her  father's  voice  sounded  ! 

"Who  owns  the  building  in  which  the  saloon  is 
kept  ?  He's  the  man  to  go  for  first."  This  from 
Dr.  Benham. 

Then  Mr.  Remington — "I  don't  know.  There 
seems  to  be  some  difficulty  in  discovering.  It  is 
owned  by  an  association,  some  of  them  think  ;  but 
Mason  said  not,  and  he  is  generally  well  posted. 
But  he  didn't  state  who  the  owner  was.  Oh, 
there  is  no  hope  from  that  quarter.  Mason  said 
he  had  been  to  the  person,  or  persons,  and  been 
assured  that  their  hands  were  tied.  They  had 
leased  the  building  out  of  their  control.  Pur- 
posely tied,  Mason  said ;  and  he  added  that  he 
knew  it  had  been  purposely  done,  and  could  prove 
it,  if  occasion  demanded." 

Again  that  startled  —  this  time  almost  fright- 
ened—  look  in  Elsie's  eyes.  There  was  surely 
some  mistake.  The  saloon  could  never  be  in  her 
father's  building ! 

"  Where  is  the  obnoxious  saloon  ? "  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton's  voice  again  —  clear,  cultured,  undisturbed. 
Evidently  she  was  in  utter  ignorance  of  this 
being  possibly  a  personal  question. 


322  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

"Why,  it  is  in  that  large  brick  block  on  the 
corner  of  Foundry  and  Washington  Streets  —  the 
worst  possible  place  for  a  saloon  in  the  entire  city. 
But  what  enrages  me,  is  the  thought  of  the  man 
who  manages  it.  The  idea  that  any  citizen  would 
perjure  himself  by  saying  that  the  man  was  of 
good  moral  character!  Even  judged  by  the  rules 
which  obtain  in  the  civil  courts,  he  has  an  infa- 
mous character  in  almost  every  direction." 

"Perhaps  he  will  fail  of  his  object,"  said  Dr. 
Benham ;  "  and  if  he  does,  how  much  better  off 
will  you  be  ?  Somebody  will  succeed.  The  per- 
son with  *  spotless  moral  character,'  it  seems,  can 
be  readily  found  to  sell  liquid  fire  to  his  fellow- 
men.  Perhaps  you  can  get  a  very  high-licensed, 
gilded  saloon  there,  Brother  Remington,  and  a 
first-class  statesman  to  run  it.  Then  the  foundry 
men  will  be  safe,  of  course  !  " 

"Oh,  there  is  room  for  sarcasm  over  this  way 
of  fighting  the  enemy,  I  admit,"  Mr.  Remington 
said;  "and  we  are  only  fighting  in  this  way  on 
the  road  to  better  methods.  The  end  will  come. 
Meantime,  this  saloon  —  pardon  my  return  to  the 
subject,  but  I  am  extremely  anxious.  There  are 
gentlemen  present  who,  if  I  mistake  not,  own 
property  in  that  ward.  If  Mrs.  Chilton  will  for- 
give me  for  bringing  business  into  a  social  gather- 
ing, I  would  be  glad  to  receive  your  promise  to 
give  a  little  attention  to  this  matter  just  now.  I 


EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS.  323 

know  how  pressed  for  time  business  men  are,  and 
how  liable  they  are  to  overlook  some  things,  but 
the  enemy  is  alert  and  pressing  us  very  closely 
just  now." 

Mrs.  Chilton's  general  interest  in  the  subject 
had  been  dispelled  within  the  moment  after  she 
had  heard  where  the  building  was  located.  Her 
interest  just  now  was  centered  in  jelly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Remington  ;  you  have 
not  been  served  to  some  of  my  choice  jelly.  What 
an  oversight !  I  am  sure  you  will  be  fond  of  it." 

"  No,  madame,  thank  you ;  it  was  not  an  over- 
sight. I  declined  the  jelly." 

He  did  not  say  that  it  was  because  it  blushed 
to  its  very  heart  with  the  flavoring  of  wine,  but 
returned  to,  or,  rather,  continued  on,  the  topic 
from  which  his  hostess  had  skillfully  tried  to  draw 
him. 

"Mr.  Delancy,  am  I  not  right  in  thinking  that 
you  own  property  in  the  Fifth  Ward  ? " 

"I  do,  sir;  and  I  am  one  of  those  'infamous 
citizens '  who  signed  the  petition  for  license, 
which  seems  to  have  aroused  your  special  indig- 
nation. Allow  me  to  remind  you  that  we  busi- 
ness men  have  as  good  opportunity  to  judge  of 
character  as  have  most  of  the  clergymen,  who  do 
not  come  in  contact  with  the  persons  in  question, 
and  judge  only  from  generally  exaggerated  hear- 
say. If  we  must  have  a  saloon  I  know  no  reason 


324  EMBARRASSING    QUESTIONS. 

why  Hodge  should  not  keep  it,  as  well  as  any 
other  person.  And  I  call  on  my  friend  here,  Mr. 
Palmer,  to  uphold  me.  You  signed  the  same 
obnoxious  paper,  if  I  mistake  not,  Palmer  ? " 

"I  believe  I  did,"  Aleck  Palmer  said,  affecting 
an  exceedingly  careless  tone,  his  eyes  avoiding 
the  end  of  the  table  where  Elsie  sat. 


FANATICISM.  325 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


BY    MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


FANATICISM. 

GOOD  for  you,  Mr.  Palmer!"  Mrs.  Delancy 
said,  in  tones  which  made  her  fastidious 
hostess  wince,  so  high-keyed  were  they.  "  I'm 
glad  you  haven't  joined  the  fanatics  yet.  There's 
Fern  Redpath,  half  way  beside  herself  on  the 
temperance  question.  I  should  not  wonder  if  she 
were  to  end  in  an  insane  asylum  —  I  shouldn't, 
really !  She  came  to  me  to  sign  some  sort  of  a 
petition  the  other  day  —  something  about  some 
law  upon  the  hobby  she  is  riding.  The  perfect 
absurdity  of  the  thing !  I  told  her  I  was  thankful 
it  wasn't  my  business  —  that  I  had  a  husband  to 
attend  to  those  matters  for  me,  and  I  could  trust 
him  to  do  it.  Poor  Fern !  I'm  sorry  for  her. 
She  used  to  be  such  a  lovely  girl." 

Mrs.    Delancy   supposed   herself  to   be   talking 


326  FANATICISM. 

confidentially  to  Mr.  Palmer,  but  her  loud  tones 
had  arrested  the  attention  of  the  whole  company, 
and  there  was  an  awkward  pause  for  a  moment 
when  she  ceased  to  speak. 

Mr.  Chilton,  in  the  outset,  had  intended  to 
reply  in  a  general  way  to  Dr.  Benham,  and  pass 
to  some  other  subject.  But  as  he  became  each 
moment  more  annoyed  at  the  turn  the  conversa- 
tion had  taken,  resolved  to  be  silent,  partly 
because  he  did  not  purpose  to  confess  to  the 
ownership  of  the  building  in  question  and  because 
he  was  a  proud  man,  and  did  not  relish  being 
obliged  to  define  his  position,  or  commit  himself 
to  any  line  of  action  —  especially  did  not  relish 
being  exhorted  to  duty  by  Mr.  Remington.  He 
was,  moreover,  a  courteous  man.  The  laws  of 
God  might  be  broken  with  impunity,  but  not  so 
the  code  of  social  etiquette.  He  was  growing 
more  exasperated  each  minute,  and,  if  he  spoke 
at  all,  would  probably  be  guilty  of  extreme  rude- 
ness to  a  guest  at  his  own  table ;  so,  making 
an  immense  effort  at  self-control,  he  preserved 
silence  upon  the  obnoxious  topic,  and  set  his  next 
neighbor  going  on  Gladstone.  He  made  irrel- 
evant replies,  but  lost  not  a  syllable  of  Mr. 
Remington's  remarks.  Pale  from  suppressed 
excitement,  and  incensed  beyond  all  power  of 
restraint,  he  was  beginning  to  speak,  when  there 
came  an  interruption.  A  servant  brought  word 


FANATICISM.  32/ 

that  a  messenger  boy  waited  in  the  hall  with  an 
important  dispatch.  Excusing  himself,  Mr.  Chil- 
ton  withdrew,  and  in  another  moment  sent  for  his 
wife.  When  he  returned  to  the  dining-room,  it 
was  to  state  in  hurried  words  that  the  message 
was  to  summon  his  wife  to  the  bedside  of  her 
dying  mother  —  that  a  train  left  the  station  in  a 
half  hour,  and  they  would  barely  have  time  to 
reach  it. 

The  guests  dispersed  soon  after.  Even  Aleck 
Palmer  did  not  linger,  having  a  pressing  engage- 
ment elsewhere.  Mr.  Chilton  did  not  accompany 
his  wife.  An  important  meeting  of  bank  direct- 
ors, to  be  held  the  next  morning,  prevented  the 
busy  rich  man  from  pausing  in  his  career,  even 
when  so  unfamiliar  a  presence  as  death  was  draw- 
ing near  to  one  of  his  family. 

Elsie  was  alone  with  her  father  for  an  hour 
or  two.  Here  was  an  unusual  opportunity,  she 
reflected,  to  speak  of  what  had  been  to  her  a 
heavy  burden  for  the  last  day  or  two,  and  which 
the  conversation  at  dinner  had  not  lightened. 
Her  father's  mood  was  not  propitious.  She  knew 
he  had  been  greatly  agitated,  so  she  thought  to 
take  him  by  guile.  She  drew  the  easiest  chair 
near  the  grate  in  the  library,  brought  his  slippers 
carefully  warmed,  then  played  and  sang  low,  soft 
airs.  When  she  had  finished,  she  came  and 
stood  behind  her  father's  chair,  and  fell  into  her 


32  FANATICISM. 

old  childish  habit  of  passing  her  fingers  lightly 
through  his  hair. 

"Papa,  will  you  let  me  ask  you  a  question,"  she 
said,  at  length,  "about  what  we  were  speaking  of 
at  dinner?  You  did  not  rent  your  building  know- 
ing that  a  saloon  was  to  be  kept  in  it,  did 
you  ? " 

"Suppose  I  did;  what  then?"  he  said,  his  brow 
darkening. 

"Oh,  it  cannot  be  that  you  would  do  anything 
so  wrong  !  Say  you  did  not.  Oh,  do  !  " 

The  tones  were  pleading  and  distressed.  Mr. 
Chilton  was  amazed. 

"How  came  you  to  know  anything  about  it?" 
he  asked,  angrily.  "  Elsie,  do  you  know  you  are 
meddling  with  matters  that  do  not  belong  to  you  ? 
What  does  all  this  mean  ? " 

"  It  means,  papa,  that  I  am  a  woman,  and  not  a 
child  any  more.  I  have  got  my  eyes  opened  to 
some  of  the  wicked  things  that  are  going  on.  Oh, 
papa,  such  a  dreadful  thing  happened  to  one  of  my 
little  scholars  in  the  mission  school !  She  has 
been  made  a  cripple  by  her  own  father,  when  he 
was  intoxicated.  I  went  to  see  her.  Her  home  is 
so  very  poor  and  bare,  and  they  are  half  starved, 
because  her  father  spends  all  his  earnings  for 
liquor.  He  has  tried  to  reform,  but  the  saloon  is 
right  there,  and  he  is  strongly  tempted.  I  felt  so 
much  ashamed  when  I  saw  that  the  place  where  a 


FANATICISM.  329 

stream  of  men  and  boys  are  going  in  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  was  in  your  building!" 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mr.  Chilton,  wheeling  his  chair 
about  and  glaring  at  his  daughter;  "if  Miss  Elsie 
Chilton  had  been  in  the  home  that  her  father  pro- 
vided for  her  instead  of  wandering  about  in  the 
slums,  she  would  not  be  quite  so  wise.  It  has 
come  to  a  pretty  pass  that  I  am  to  be  called  to 
account  by  my  own  daughter,  who  is  ashamed!" 
Mr.  Chilton  had  risen  by  this  time  and  was  strid- 
ing up  and  down  the  room.  "This  is  what  comes 
of  putting  a  consummate  idiot  in  the  pulpit.  You 
are,  parrot-like,  repeating  some  of  his  stuff." 

"  Please,  papa,  don't  be  angry  with  me ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  dreadful  for  a  Christian  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  sale  of  such  a  horrible 
thing! " 

"You  would  better  learn  another  part  of  Chris- 
tian duty,  then,  and  discover  that  it  does  not 
belong  to  a  daughter  to  arraign  her  father." 

"Oh,  papa,  I  am  not  arraigning.  I  only  speak 
of  it  because  I  love  you  so  much.  I  feel  so  sure 
that  God  will  judge  one  who  helps  in  any  way  to 
cause  such  misery.  Please  promise  me  that  the 
man  who  keeps  the  saloon  shall  be  turned  out  at 
once.  You  used  to  give  me  whatever  I  asked  for. 
Won't  you  please  grant  me  this  ?  Am  I  not  your 
dear  little  daughter  yet  ?  Don't  look  at  me  so. 
Do  say  you  will  do  what  I  ask." 


330  FANATICISM. 

But  the  father  was  too  angry  to  be  moved  by 
endearments. 

"Elsie,"  he  said,  bringing  his  hand  down  on 
the  table,  "  stop  !  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  this. 
You  have  listened  to  the  fanatical  ravings  of 
those  ignorant  fools,  and  have  taken  up  their  rant- 
ings  ;  have  taken  for  granted  that  of  course  they 
are  right,  and  your  father  is  wrong.  You  seem  to 
have  joined  yourself  to  a  company  of  old  women 
who  prowl  about  the  city  and  poke  their  noses  into 
everything  that  doesn't  concern  them.  You  will 
stop  that,  too.  That  part  of  the  city  where  you 
went  is  not  a  fit  place  for  you,  and  I  command 
you  not  to  go  there  again.  The  idea  of  your  get- 
ting up  a  maudlin  sympathy  for  brutes  who  can- 
not control  their  appetites.  They  are  not  fit  for 
you  to  think  of;  nor  their  miserable  families, 
either.  Don't  ever  step  your  foot  there  again." 

"  But,  papa,  my  little  girl  is  sick,  and  I  promised 
to  go  and  see  her.  And  you  are  mistaken  about 
one  thing.  I  have  not  taken  up  with  any  '  talk ' 
to  repeat  it  as  a  parrot  might.  They  are  my  own 
conclusions,  after  thinking  and  reading  and  see- 
ing, and  I  must  speak  and  act  according  to  my 
conscience." 

"Heavens!  Your 'conscience'  and  your  'con- 
clusions'!" thundered  Mr.  Chilton ;  "you've  no 
business  with  either.  You  would  better  cut  off 
your  hair  and  put  on  some  strong-minded  clothes 


FANATICISM.  331 

and  take  the  platform.  If  there  is  a  woman  in 
the  world  that  I  hate,  it  is  one  of  that  sort. 
Leave  the  room,  do.  To  think  that  a  daughter 
of  mine  should  come  to  this ! " 

If  he  had  not  been  so  very  angry,  the  look  his 
daughter  gave  him  —  sorrowful,  pleading,  the  eyes 
filled  with  unshed  tears  as  she  slowly  rose  to  obey 
—  would  have  melted  him.  But  Mr.  Chilton  was 
more  than  angry.  He  was  bitterly  disappointed. 
He  had  spared  no  pains  or  expense  to  fit  his 
lovely  daughter  for  a  high  place  in  society.  She 
had  for  a  brief  time  fulfilled  his  highest  hopes 
concerning  her.  Especially  gratifying  was  her 
engagement  to  Aleck  Palmer.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  the  way  of  a  brilliant  reign  for  her  as 
queen  in  the  social  world,  for  years.  But  of  late 
she  had  declined  invitations  repeatedly,  and  she 
was  losing  fairy-like  ways  and  puzzling  herself 
over  things  that  should  never  have  come  near  her. 
She  was  endangering  her  prospects,  beside,  in 
many  ways.  Aleck  Palmer  would  probably  not 
find  such  a  wife  to  his  taste ;  and  again  the  man 
inwardly  pronounced  maledictions  on  those  who 
had  worked  so  much  mischief,  and  resolved  to  do 
his  part  toward  making  the  pulpit  of  Kensett 
Square  vacant  very  soon.  There  were  reasons, 
too,  why  such  talk  from  his  daughter  pierced 
him  like  a  knife.  Conscience  had  revived,  and 
was  persecuting  him.  The  torment  was  insup- 


332  FANATICISM. 

portable,  for  conscience  had  long  been  silent  on 
this  point.  Gold  was  heaped  upon  it  so  heavily 
that  it  was  nearly  suffocated ;  gold  which  flowed 
in  from  other  sources  than  the  mere  renting  of 
one  building  for  the  purpose  of  dealing  out  liquor. 
A  prosperous  distillery  had  his  name  as  a  silent 
partner,  although  himself,  his  partners,  and  we, 
were  the  only  ones  let  into  the  secret.  Yet  Mr. 
Chilton  did  not  intend  to  be  a  hypocrite.  He  was 
punctilious  in  regard  to  many  religious  duties. 
He  gave  liberally  to  all  good  objects,  and  was  just 
in  his  dealings  with  his  fellowmen. 

When  Elsie  came  down-stairs  the  next  morn- 
ing she  found  that  her  father  had  ordered  an 
early  breakfast  for  himself,  and  had  gone  to  his 
office,  leaving  word  that  he  would  not  be  at  home 
that  night,  as  he  should  go  to  join  his  wife,  and 
return  with  her.  It  was  a  relief  to  find  herself 
alone,  sorrowful  though  she  was.  Her  father 
was  displeased  with  her,  and  there  was  nothing,  it 
seemed  to  her,  that  she  could  do  to  be  reconciled 
to  him,  for  there  was  no  confession  of  wrong  on 
her  part  to  be  made. 

Elsie  was  growing  into  the  consciousness  that 
there  are  other  methods  of  relief,  when  the  heart 
is  burdened,  than  floods  of  tears.  Prayer  was 
daily  becoming  something  more  to  her  than  a 
repetition  of  familiar  phrases,  in  a  general  way. 
There  was  a  continuous  lifting  up  of  her  heart  for 


FANATICISM.  333 

guidance  in  a  life  which  had  suddenly  been 
turned  from  straight,  flowery  ways,  into  bewil- 
dering cross-roads.  What  was  to  come  of  it  all ! 
How  was  she  to  be  true  to  her  new  convictions 
with  all  the  pressure  that  would  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  her  ? 

She  sat  alone  toward  evening,  thinking  it  all 
over,  when  Aleck  Palmer  was  announced.  She 
had  dreaded  to  meet  him.  They  had  not  seen 
each  other  alone  since  the  day  they  met  so  inop- 
portunely in  the  street.  His  admission,  too,  at 
the  dinner-table  the  day  before,  that  he  had  signed 
the  paper  petitioning  for  license,  had  fallen  upon 
her  heart  like  a  heavy  weight.  She  did  not  come 
with  a  spring  to  meet  him  to-night,  as  she  used 
to  do  when  she  was  a  careless,  happy  girl. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  find  you  at  home,"  he  said, 
as  he  entered;  "not  attending  a  mission  school, 
or  festival,  or  singing  bad  rhymes  at  a  temperence 
meeting,  nor  closeted  with  two  or  three  old 
women  at  a  committee  meeting.  How  does  it 
happen  ? " 

It  was  scarcely  a  lover-like  greeting,  and  Elsie 
detected  more  sharpness  in  the  tones  than  in  the 
words,  even  though  Mr.  Palmer  smiled  as  he 
spoke.  He  was  not  in  a  decidedly  bad  humor,  for 
he  had  just  concluded  a  bargain  which  pleased 
him  exceedingly  —  a  purchase  which  he  had  long 
coveted,  but  owing  to  difficulties  in  settling  the 


334  FANATICISM. 

estate,  could  not  gain  possession  of  until  now.  It 
was  an  elegant  house  on  a  spacious  street  in  the 
most  delightful  part  of  the  city,  and  was  to  be 
his  home  and  Elsie's. 

He  would  not  tell  her  of  it  at  once.  There 
were  some  matters  to  be  settled  between  them 
first  at  which  he  had  been  slightly  nettled,  as  his 
first  remark  proved.  If  he  had  known  how  his 
words  jarred,  and  how  they  gave  evidence  to 
Elsie  of  utter  lack  of  sympathy  with  her,  he 
might  have  hesitated  to  speak  them.  Still,  Aleck 
Palmer  was  accustomed  to  having  circumstances 
and  people  yield  to  his  imperious  will,  and  he 
considered  any  inharmony  of  views  between  them 
of  little  importance,  as  he  could  easily  mold  Elsie 
into  what  he  wished  when  once  she  had  become 
his  wife.  To  this  end  he  had  in  mind  to  propose 
an  earlier  date  for  their  marriage  than  had  at  first 
been  named. 

"Then  I  shall  soon  put  an  end  to  these  new 
whims  she  has  taken,"  this  wise  young  man 
declared  to  himself. 

It  was  a  grave  face  that  was  lifted  to  his, 
though  the  eyes  were  sweet.  Somehow,  he 
shrank  from  those  pure,  steady  eyes  to-night,  and 
would  have  preferred  that  his  bantering  mood 
should  have  been  met  by  a  bright  repartee  rather 
than  by  her  low-spoken,  gentle  — 

"Oh,   I  have  been  at  home   a   great   deal   this 


FANATICISM.  335 

week."  Then,  in  haste  to  speak  at  once  of  what 
lay  heavy  on  her  heart,  added  — "  I  am  glad  you 
are  come,  Aleck ;  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  some- 
thing for  me." 

"Command  me,"  he  said,  lightly. 

"You  said  at  dinner  last  night  that  you  had 
signed  the  petition  for  license  in  the  Fifth  Ward. 
You  surely  did  not  mean  it." 

"  I  surely  did.  Are  you  going  about  getting  up 
a  counter-petition  that  you  wish  me  to  sign  ? " 

"No,  I  am  not  getting  it  up,  but  there  is  such 
a  petition ;  and  oh,  Aleck !  I  wish  you  would 
take  your  name  from  that  one  and  sign  the 
petition  for  no  license." 

"It  has  come  to  just  what  I  had  feared,"  Mr. 
Palmer  said,  contracting  his  brows;  "you  have 
become  thoroughly  infatuated  with  the  rantings  of 
those  fanatics.  It  is  highly  complimentary  to  me 
to  conclude  that  I  am  wrong,  and  they,  of  course, 
are  right.  I  have  reasons  for  my  principles  as 
well  as  they,  and  I  act  as  I  believe  to  be  for  the 
best  good  of  the  greatest  number." 

"  How  can  it  be  possible  that  it  is  for  the  best 
good  of  any  human  being  to  have  liquor  sold  as  a 
beverage  ?  I  have  been  reading  for  myself  on  the 
subject,  Aleck,  and  I  find  that  a  great  part  of  the 
misery  in  the  world  comes  from  that  source. 
The  Bible,  too,  is  against  it.  I  was  searching  to 
see  if  there  was  anything  about  it,  and,  to  my  sur- 


336  FANATICISM. 

prise,  I  found  this  verse :  « Woe  unto  him  that 
giveth  his  neighbor  drink.'  Is  it  not  the  same 
thing  when  you  petition  for  some  one  else  to  be 
allowed  to  give  it  ?  How  can  there  be  a  question 
about  the  right  and  wrong  of  it  ?  Why  should 
not  every  good  man  vote  always  and  everywhere 
against  it,  and  try  to  legislate  it  out  of  the  land 
forever?" 

Aleck  Palmer  looked  down  at  the  fair  girl,  with 
her  soft  draperies  and  her  grace  of  form  and 
manner.  How  had  she  suddenly  become  trans- 
formed from  a  dancing,  laughing,  winsome,  young 
maiden  into  this  positive,  argumentative  creature. 
He  could  not  deny  that  she  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  than  now,  with  her  glowing  face 
and  earnest  eyes.  If  it  had  been  a  disquisition 
on  art  that  she  was  absorbed  in,  he  would  have 
thought  her  almost  divine.  But  this  hateful  sub- 
ject !  What  had  his  fairy-like  Elsie  to  do  with 
such  hard,  disagreeable  topics  ?  She  was  becom- 
ing utterly  spoiled. 

"Women  know  nothing  of  these  political  mat- 
ters," he  said,  coldly;  "and  it  is  best  not  to 
try  to  meddle  with  them.  They  cannot  compre- 
hend all  the  reasons  for  certain  lines  of  action. 
Men  are  perfectly  capable  of  adjusting  these 
questions,  and  women  would  much  better  trust 
them,  and  attend  to  matters  in  their  own  sphere, 
where  they  are  far  more  attractive  than  when 


FANATICISM.  337 

they  assume  to  be  strong-minded.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  even  liquor-sellers  are  not  doing  the 
harm  that  these  addle-headed  fanatics  are,  who 
are  the  means  of  dividing  the  country  up  into 
factions,  and  diverting  votes  from  important  ques- 
tions. An  impertinent,  conceited,  bigoted,  com- 
mon horde,  who  cannot  see  more  than  an  inch 
ahead  of  them !  Of  course,  they  will  secure  a 
following  among  the  ignorant,  but  it  is  mortify- 
ing that  Elsie  Chilton  has  been  made  a  tool  of, 
to  spread  the  foolish  notions  of  a  few  unbalanced 
persons  who  egotistically  imagine  that  they  can 
make  the  world  over." 

Elsie's  color  had  grown  brighter,  and  she  was 
beginning  eagerly  to  make  her  defense  when 
Mr.  Palmer  added  — 

"By  the  way,  let  us  change  the  subject. 
What  impressive  scene  was  going  on  between 
you  and  Mason  just  as  I  passed  you  in  the 
street?  I  have  scarcely  seen  you  since." 

"We  simply  shook  hands.  Did  we  look  very 
impressive  ? " 

"  Is  he  such  a  dear  friend  that  you  must  take 
leave  of  him  with  so  much  demonstration  ? " 

For  the  second  time  that  week  there  came 
to  Elsie  a  slight,  indefinable  sense  of  annoyance, 
that  she  must  be  accountable  for  her  smallest 
action,  as  if  she  were  a  child.  Her  transparent 
nature  would  not  allow  her  to  evade  or  prevari- 


338  FANATICISM. 

cate,  so  she  answered  by  telling  the  story  of 
her  visit  to  little  Nellie,  her  meeting  Mr.  Mason, 
and  their  talk  afterward. 

"  Indeed !  So  you  and  Mr.  Mason  go  together 
on  errands  of  mercy  in  the  byways  of  the  city! 
It  is  a  pity  he  had  not  business  enough  to  keep 
him  employed,  without  his  being  obliged  to  fill 
up  his  time  dawdling  about  in  this  way.  He  is 
contemptible ! " 

"  He  is  very  noble ! "  Elsie  said,  with  a  show  of 
spirit,  "and  we  did  not  go  together.  I  told  you 
we  happened  to  meet  there." 

"And  so  you  announced  to  him  that  your  pur- 
pose was  henceforth  to  number  yourself  among 
1  the  martyrs  to  a  sacred  cause'?  That  is  the 
way  the  cant  phrases  go,  I  believe.  Did  it  occur 
to  you  that  your  life  was  to  be  joined  with 
another's,  and  that  that .  one  might  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  your  future  ? " 

Aleck  Palmer  was  extremely  angry.  His 
face  was  white,  and  his  tones  were  unsteady,  for, 
added  to  other  grievances,  there  had  shot  into 
his  heart  for  the  first  time  a  swift  pang  of 
jealousy.  The  face  of  the  girl  who  listened, 
flamed  up  into  vivid  color.  How  could  he  speak 
of  dear  and  tender  relations  in  such  a  way  ?  Her 
life  joined  to  another's,  joined  in  the  sense  of 
shackles !  Was  that  what  it  was  to  be  ?  All 
her  womanhood  rose  in  protest,  that  any  one, 


FANATICISM.  339 

be  he  ever  so  dear,  was  to  command  her  con- 
science and  restrict  her  freedom  of  thought. 
The  young  man  might  well  feel  a  jealous  twinge, 
for  at  that  moment,  involuntarily  and  swiftly, 
Elsie  contrasted  the  two  men ;  not  their  eyes, 
or  complexions,  or  height,  but  their  manhood. 
And  Earle  Mason  towered  above  the  man  who 
had  pronounced  him  "contemptible."  In  this, 
she  had  no  thought  of  being  disloyal  to  Aleck. 
Indeed,  she  recognized  with  sorrow  the  fact 
that  such  had  been  her  verdict.  Character,  not 
those  who  interpret  it,  is  alone  responsible  for 
the  impressions  it  produces. 

"No,"  she  answered,  lifting  her  head  somewhat 
proudly;  "it  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  I  was 
not  to  obey  my  conscience,  and  to  have  the 
utmost  freedom  of  thought  and  action  in  all  my 
future  life.  I  will  repeat  what  I  said  to  Mr. 
Mason,  that  it  is  my  solemn  purpose  to  give,  so 
far  as  I  can,  my  strength,  my  voice  and  my  means, 
to  help  wage  a  war  against  rum,  as  long  as  I  live, 
God  helping  me  !  " 

It  was  evident  to  both,  at  that  moment,  that  a 
great  gulf  had  arisen  between  them.  The  man 
could  not  appreciate  the  heroism  of  the  woman's 
words.  To  him  they  were  mere  absurdity,  and 
she  knew  and  felt  it.  Aleck  Palmer  was  aston- 
ished. This  was  not  the  timid,  clinging  girl  he 
had  come  to  put  down  by  a  few  masterful  words. 


34O  FANATICISM. 

She  had  been  changed  into  a  thoughtful,  self- 
assertive  woman. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  when  they 
looked  into  each  other's  faces.  One  was  fierce, 
the  other  resolute.  Mr.  Palmer  resolved  to  resort 
to  a  desperate  remedy,  and  frighten  this  young 
reformer  into  a  recantation.  He  forgot,  in  his 
rage,  that  he  had  resolved  not  to  argue  the  ques- 
tion with  her,  but  wait  until  he  could  speak  with 
the  authority  he  conceived  a  husband  should 
have. 

"You  certainly,"  he  said,  "will  not  persist  in 
such  a  course,  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  in  direct 
opposition  to  my  wishes ;  and  that,  after  you  have 
become  my  wife,  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to 
permit  you  to  be  prominent  in  any  work  of  the 
kind.  In  fact,  it  would  damage  my  interests 
politically." 

"We  might  as  well  be  plain  with  each  other, 
Aleck,"  Elsie  said,  speaking  with  effort,  mingled 
emotions  striving  for  the  mastery.  "I  cannot 
permit  any  one,  whether  I  be  married  or  other- 
wise, to  rule  my  conscience.  What  I  promise  to 
God  I  must  perform." 

"Such  absurd  folly!  Such  infatuation!"  he 
muttered,  and  then  — 

"Are  you  sure  you  will  be  able  to  meet  the 
consequences  of  such  a  decision,  if  the  result  of 
all  this  be  to  separate  us  forever  ? " 


FANATICISM.  341 

He  spoke  in  that  low,  hoarse  tone  into  which 
some  men  fall  when  they  are  angry.  He  was 
utterly  unprepared  for  the  sentence  that  followed. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  it  would  have  come 
to  that.  We  are  so  utterly  unlike.  We  have 
somehow  got  upon  different  planes.  We  should 
make  each  other  miserable,  I  fear." 

Her  face,  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  while  she 
spoke  those  words,  had  a  look  in  it  that  was  not 
so  much  of  sorrow  for  herself,  as  of  pity  for  him. 

Aleck  Palmer  bowed  low  with  mock  reverence 
as  he  said  — 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Miss  Chilton.  Let 
this  little  farce  end  here,  now  and  forever."  And 
then,  without  further  speech,  he  turned  and  was 
gone. 

As  he  went  out  into  the  frosty  air,  he  himself 
did  not  know  which  was  hurt  more  —  his  heart  or 
his  pride. 


342  PRECIPITATION. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


PRECIPITATION. 

THE  Rev.  John  Remington  was  in  his  study, 
in  his  favorite  chair,  and  evidently  study- 
ing, though  neither  book  nor  paper  was  at  hand ; 
his  elbows  rested  on  the  hospitable  arms  of  the 
study  chair,  and  his  head  was  bowed  on  his  hands, 
whose  fingers,  interlocking,  formed  a  rest  for  it. 

Some  philosopher  in  human  nature  says,  that 
for  certain  natures,  this  is  the  attitude  of  deep 
and  painful  thought.  If  you  could  have  seen  the 
heavy  lines  on  this  young  minister's  forehead,  and 
the  quiver  of  his  sensitive  mouth  hidden  by  the 
friendly  hands,  you  would  have  felt  that  the  phi- 
losophy held  good  in  this  place. 

He  was  not  alone.  Seated  in  the  easy  chair 
near  the  study  table,  the  chair  Mattie  was  sup- 
posed to  occupy,  and  rarely  had  time  for  in  these 


PRECIPITATION.  343 

days,  with  eyes  dropped  to  the  carpet,  his  entire 
attitude  betokening  respectful  waiting,  was  Earle 
Mason.  There  was  no  quiver  on  his  lips ;  instead, 
they  were  firmly  set,  and  there  was  about  him  an 
indescribable  air  of  holding  himself  in  check. 

The  silence  between  them  lasted  until  Mr. 
Remington  seemed  suddenly  to  become  aware 
that  it  was  growing  painful,  and  lifted  his  head 
with  a  faint  smile.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he 
said ;  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I  was  not 
alone.  You  see  how  entirely  at  home  I  must  be 
with  you ;  there  are  some  whose  presence  I  could 
not  forget,  however  much  I  might  wish  to." 

"No  apology  is  necessary,  of  course,  Mr.  Rem- 
ington ;  but  may  I  be  allowed  to  ask  what  you 
mean  to  do ;  or  is  that  premature  ? " 

"Not  at  all;  there  is  but  one  thing  to  do ;  I 
will  go,  of  course.  When  a  pastor  is  respectfully 
invited  by  eight  of  his  leading  members  to  do  so,  I 
take  it  there  is  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  resign." 

Now  the  eyes  flashed,  and  the  impetuous 
tongue  burst  forth.  "I  do  not  see  why,  sir,  when 
the  eight  members  are  'leading  ones'  merely 
because  they  happen  to  control  more  money  than 
the  others.  This  is  not  a  new  experience  in  our 
church.  Your  immediate  predecessor,  as  well  as 
several  who  preceded  him,  passed  through  a  like 
ordeal.  Did  you  never  hear  how  Dr.  Bourne  was 
treated  ? " 


344  PRECIPITATION. 

Despite  his  excellent  powers  of  self-control, 
John  Remington  winced.  Yes,  he  had  heard  of 
Dr.  Bourne,  and  a  vivid  flush  overspread  his  here- 
tofore pale  face.  He  had  heard  that  Dr.  Bourne 
was  "a  good  man,  a  well-meaning  man,  but  not  in 
any  sense  of  the  word  a  preacher.  Good  old-fash- 
ioned, prosy  sermons,  you  know,"  Mr.  Chilton 
had  told  him  with  a  benevolent  smile;  and  had 
added  — 

"I  respect  Dr.  Bourne  as  much  as  any  man 
could,  and  regret  the  necessity  which  was  laid 
upon  us  for  making  a  change ;  but  one's  personal 
feelings  must  not  interfere  with  one's  duty,  where 
the  good  of  the  church  is  concerned.  You  know, 
of  course,  that  that  sort  of  preaching  will  not  do 
for  the  present  generation  ?  "  And  Mr.  Reming- 
ton had  acquiesced,  by  silence  at  least. 

Perhaps,  in  this  hour  of  painful  awakening  he 
saw  more  plainly  than  ever  before,  the  train  of 
thought  which  he  had  pursued  while  Mr.  Chilton 
was  explaining  the  "sacrifice  of  personal  feeling," 
made  for  the  good  of  the  church  ! 

Of  course  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  ought  to 
keep  abreast  of  the  times ;  he  cannot  be  expected 
to  win  the  respect  of  thinking  men,  who  are  alive 
to  all  questions  of  the  day,  unless  he  can  meet 
them  on  their  own  ground,  with  as  thorough  a 
grasp  of  the  subject  as  they,  and  with  ability  to 
present  his  views  in  a  logical  and  interesting  man- 


PRECIPITATION.  345 

ner.     He  did  not  think  they  would  have  occasion 
to  find  fault  with  him  on  that  score,  at  least. 

This  humiliated  pastor  recognized  thoughts  like 
these  as  the  ones  which  had  presented  themselves 
during  that  talk  with  Mr.  Chilton.  Was  he,  then, 
an  egotist  ?  That  despicable  thing,  a  vain  man  ; 
trusting  in  his  own  powers  of  logic  and  elocution 
to  move  the  multitude  toward  Christ  ?  No,  he  was 
not ;  he  held  up  his  head  and  told  himself  boldly 
that  there  was  no  need  for  making  himself  worse 
than  he  was ;  that  his  supreme  hope  and  trust 
had  been  centered  in  the  thought  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  speaking  through  him,  but  he  had  believed 
that  the  Lord  called  men  of  talent  to  the  gospel 
ministry,  and  expected  them  to  use  their  talents 
to  the  utmost ;  and  he  had  believed  that  the  rea- 
son Dr.  Bourne  failed,  was  not  because  of  the 
hardness  of  men's  hearts,  but  because  of  the 
weakness  of  his  powers.  He  himself  had  not 
expected  to  fail,  at  least,  not  in  this  line ;  yet  here 
beside  him  lay  that  curiously-written  letter,  every 
word  of  which  struck  at  him  like  a  knife.  A  letter 
which  said  that  they  regretted  the  necessity  which 
seemed  to  be  upon  them  to  seek  a  change  for 
their  pulpit.  They  did  not  doubt  his  integrity  of 
purpose,  nor  his  earnestness  of  soul ;  but  they  felt 
that  he  must  have  seen  that  he  was  not  succeed- 
ing in  holding  the  young  and  vigorous  elements  of 
the  church.  That  his  style  of  preaching,  though 


346  PRECIPITATION. 

excellent  in  its  way,  and  all  that  many  churches 
might  desire,  did  not  seem  suited  to  the  demands 
of  Kensett  Square.  And  much  more,  in  the 
same  strain. 

There  are  ministers,  and  ministers'  sons  and 
daughters,  who  will  smile  over  this  story,  they 
know  so  well  the  very  phraseology  of  communi- 
cations of  like  character.  It  is  true  in  this,  as  in 
other  lines,  that  " history  repeats  itself." 

But  it  was  all  new  to  John  Remington,  and  his 
heart  was  as  heavy  as  lead.  Earle  Mason  did  not 
await  this  retrospect  in  silence;  he  was  pouring 
out  a  torrent  of  words. 

"  I  am  an  advocate  of  peace,  Mr.  Remington  ;  I 
have  always  taken  the  ground  that  it  should  be 
maintained  at  the  expense  of  everything  but  prin- 
ciple ;  but  I  declare  to  you  that  I  think  the  time 
has  come  when  the  Kensett  Square  church  should 
listen  to  the  voice  of  its  large  majority  of  people, 
with  brains  and  souls,  whose  pockets  are  not  so 
heavily  lined  as  those  of  the  present  controllers  of 
affairs.  Do  you  not  know  that  fully  three-fourths 
of  your  large  congregation  would  to-day  sign  a  peti- 
tion begging  you  to  remain  at  any  cost,  and  that  a 
respectable  portion  of  the  other  fourth  would  sign 
the  same  paper  if  they  were  not  held  in  bondage  to 
the  aforesaid  few  ?  Is  it  right  for  the  few,  whose 
aims  and  plans  are  utterly  out  of  accord  with  the 
spirit  of  the  gospel,  to  rule  the  church  of  God  ? " 


PRECIPITATION.  347 

Mr.  Remington  was  regarding  him  thought- 
fully, and  now  asked  —  "What  do  you  take  to  be 
the  real  animus  of  this  letter,  then?  Do  you 
mean  that  even  those  men  who  have  signed  it  do 
not  honestly  feel  what  they  say  ?  Do  they  not 
really  think  that  my  sermons  are  such  as  cannot 
benefit  the  Kensett  Square  congregation?" 

Earle  Mason  threw  back  his  head  in  evident 
scorn.  "Benefit!  Dear  sir,  they  are  perfectly 
honest.  How  do  they  want  the  Kensett  Square 
congregation  benefitted?  They  want  to  retain 
the  favor  of  the  fashionable,  worldly  crowd. 
They  want  its  members  to  be  able  to  make  their 
nightly  feasts,  where  wine,  and  cards,  and  fashion- 
able dancing  rule  the  hour.  They  want  them  to 
think  nothing  about  the  wages  of  the  poor,  or  the 
temptations  of  the  poor,  except  to  plan  asylums 
for  the  daily  increasing  number  of  paupers.  My 
dear  pastor,  the  fraction  which  rules  Kensett 
Square,  and  has  ruled  it  for  a  score  of  years, 
believes  itself  to  be  rich,  and  in  need  of  nothing ; 
and  wishes  to  be  left  in  peaceable  possession  of 
such  belief.  It  has  come  to  realize  that  such 
sermons  as  yours  must  either  bear  fruit,  or  be 
silenced.  To  sit  quietly  under  them  from  Sabbath 
to  Sabbath,  and  make  no  change,  is  impossible." 

"But,  Brother  Mason,  consider  what  you  are 
saying;  all  but  two  of  the  names  on  this  paper 
are  members  of  the  church  !  " 


348  PRECIPITATION. 

"Church  members,  it  is  true,  but  —  well,  Mr. 
Remington,  I'll  be  as  charitable  as  I  can  under 
the  circumstances;  but  I  know  these  men  well, 
and  my  father  knew  them  before  me." 

"'Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged/"  said  his 
pastor,  with  a  wan  smile. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  'By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them.'  Look  here,  Mr.  Remington" — and  draw- 
ing to  him  the  letter  which  lay  on  the  table,  he 
pointed  with  his  pencil  to  a  name — "this  man 
furnishes  work  to  dozens  of  women,  at  what  he 
knows  to  be  starvation  prices ;  and  when  called 
upon  to  aid  one  of  them,  who  is  dying  of  hunger- 
and  impure  air,  he  replied  that  when  the  woman 
brought  home  her  last  bundle  of  work  and  was 
paid  for  it,  his  responsibility  toward  her  ceased. 
That  to  be  expected  to  enquire  into  the  aches 
and  pains  and  whims  of  each  woman  who  hap- 
pened to  work  for  .him,  was  preposterous.  This 
man  owns,  and  receives  rent  for  tenement  houses, 
the  sleeping  apartments  of  which  are  green  with 
mold,  and  refuses  to  spend  a  dollar  in  repairs. 
And  to  my  certain  knowledge  he  turned  a  family 
into  the  streets  last  week,  because  the  mother  —  a 
widow  —  was  twenty-four  hours  behind  time  with 
her  rent. 

"How  dwelleth  the  love  of  God  in  him,  Mr. 
Remington  ?  And  this  man  is  the  largest  owner 
in  one  of  the  largest  distilleries  in  the  country; 


PRECIPITATION.  349 

unless  his  prospective  father-in-law  is  as  large  — 
which  I  surmise,  but  do  not  know.  The  other 
items  I  can  vouch  for." 

"  His  prospective  father-in-law ! "  the  minister 
interrupted,  hastily;  "you  surely  do  not  mean 
Mr.  Chilton  ?  Brother  Mason,  that  cannot  be 
possible ! " 

"  I  do,  indeed,  mean  him ;  though  as  I  say,  that 
part  is  surmise.  At  least,  he  is  the  owner  of  the 
building  next  to  the  foundry  where  we  have  been 
trying  so  hard  to  suppress  that  saloon  —  and  have 
failed,  by  the  way  —  and  Mr.  Chilton  was  peti- 
tioned when  he  gave  the  lease,  to  make  the  sell- 
ing of  intoxicants  in  the  building  impossible,  and 
refused." 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  Mr.  Remington;  and  the 
pained,  shocked  look  on  his  face  was  one  that 
lingered  afterward  in  the  young  man's  memory. 
There  was  silence  between  them  for  several  min- 
utes, then  Mr.  Remington  spoke  again  in  a  low, 
moved  tone—  " Brother  Mason,  I  have  felt  a  pecul- 
iar anxiety  for,  and  interest  in,  that  man  from  the 
very  first  of  my  coming  here.  I  have  made  him 
a  special  subject  of  prayer,  and  asked  that  the 
Lord  would  let  me  help  him." 

"  Then  it  may  be  that  the  Lord's  effort  to  reach 
him  in  answer  to  your  prayer  is  what  has  stirred 
up  all  the  evil  within  him,  and  made  him  so  bitter 
against  you.  A  man  must  either  turn  squarely 


35O  PRECIPITATION. 

around  or  plunge  ahead,  when  God's  spirit  strives 
with  him.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Is  he  bitter  against  me  ? " 

Mr.  Mason  bowed  gravely.  "  More  bitter,  I 
think,  than  the  others,  though  less  honest ;  he 
does  his  work  in  an  underhanded  way,  and  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this  precious  document,  if  I  mis- 
take not.  Mr.  Remington,  would  it  not  be  possi- 
ble for  you,  and  has  not  the  time  come  when  the 
church  should  rally  around  you  and  stand  her 
ground  ?  It  would  cause  a  division,  it  may  be ; 
but  would  we  not  be  in  better  shape  for  the  Mas- 
ter's handling  if  we  were  to  come  out  from  such 
positions,  and  be  separate?" 

Mr.  Remington  shook  his  head.  "  It  may  have 
to  come,  in  time,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  It  should 
come,  perhaps,  if  you  are  right ;  but  not  yet,  and 
not  through  me ;  I  am  too  young  a  man.  The 
spirit  of  the  effort  would  be  misunderstood  and 
do  harm.  No,  you  must  try  again  —  with  a  new 
man  who  will  try  more  wisely,  perhaps,  than  I 
have  done." 

Silence  again ;  broken  this  time  by  Mr.  Mason. 

"Mr.  Remington,  where  will  you  go?  And 
when  will  you  go  ?  Not,  surely,  until  the  close  of 
the  church  year  ? " 

"As  to  the  first,"  Mr.  Remington  said,  with  a 
grave  smile,  "  I  am  not  sure.  I  have  no  present 
knowledge ;  that  is,  I  do  not  see  very  far  ahead. 


PRECIPITATION.  351 

But  as  to  the  second  question,  nothing  is  plainer 
than  that  I  should  vacate  this  pulpit  as  soon  as 
it  can  be  done,  in  accordance  with  our  church 
rules.  Nothing  is  gained,  in  my  judgment,  by 
delay,  when  matters  have  reached  such  a  focus 
as  this.  How  they  could  have  reached  it  with- 
out my  having  at  least  a  premonition,  is  almost 
beyond  my  comprehension.  It  would  seem  as 
though  I  must  have  been  culpably  blind."  And 
he  passed  his  hand  wearily  over  his  forehead,  in  a 
way  he  had  when  perplexed  and  weary  at  heart. 

"  They  were  precipitated,"  the  young  man  said, 
with  stern  gravity,  "and  by  causes  utterly  out- 
side of  either  your  duty  or  control.  May  I  ask  if 
Mrs.  Remington  knows  ? " 

A  sudden  flush  overspread  the  minister's  face, 
which  had  paled  again.  "She  does  not,"  he  said, 
quickly ;  "  I  have  known  of  it  myself,  you  remem- 
ber, less  than  twenty-four  hours ;  and  I  have  been 
weak,  perhaps,"  hesitating  for  a  word,  and  smiling 
faintly.  "I  have  shrunk  from  telling  her;  these 
things  strike  to  the  very  life  of  ministers'  wives, 
Brother  Mason." 

"It  is  dastardly!"  said  Mr.  Mason,  rising 
hastily.  "  It  will  not  do  for  me  to  talk  about  it, 
yet ;  I  have  not  your  wonderful  self-control,  nor 
your  Christ-like  spirit.  I  will  go;  only  —  there 
is  this  to  say,  and  yet  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it. 
There  is  a  little  church  — a  very  poor  church  in  a 


352  PRECIPITATION. 

poor  country  village  —  which  is  just  now  in  sad 
straits  ;  no  preaching  in  the  town  of  any  sort,  and 
no  present  prospect.  If  you  could  at  any  time 
give  them  help  for  a  few  weeks,  until  you  knew 
what  you  wanted  to  do,  it  would  be  work  for 
Christ.  They  are  hungry  for  the  gospel." 

"I  will  go  to  them  with  all  my  heart,  if  I  can," 
said  Mr.  Remington,  promptly.  "  If  there  is  any- 
thing which  it  seems  to  me  would  do  my  soul 
good,  it  would  be  to  get  where  there  are  some 
poor,  disheartened,  struggling  people  who  are  hun- 
gry for  the  gospel.  It  was  the  'common  people,' 
you  remember,  who  'heard  Him  gladly'."  And 
this  time  John  Remington's  smile  was  full  and 
sweet. 

Now,  in  order  to  understand  the  motive  powers 
which  had  precipitated  this  event,  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  go  back  a  little,  to  the  days  immediately 
following  the  evening  on  which  Aleck  Palmer  so 
abruptly  left  his  intended  wife  to  her  own  troubled 
thoughts,  and  went  out,  slamming  the  door  ever 
so  slightly  after  him. 

To  say  that  Aleck  Palmer,  on  that  occasion,  was 
in  a  passion,  would  be  to  put  it  very  mildly.  He 
had  been  angry  before,  in  his  life  —  as  certain  who 
were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  in  a  degree  in  his 
power,  could  have  testified  to  their  sorrow  —  but 
at  this  time  the  blood  fairly  boiled  in  his  veins. 
He  tramped  a  half  mile  in  the  wrong  direction 


PRECIPITATION.  353 

before  he  was  even  composed  enough  to  note  the 
way  he  was  taking.  He  told  himself  that  he 
would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  Chilton 
family ;  that  he  was  well  rid  of  a  dangerous  and 
exceedingly  uncomfortable  young  woman  who  was 
getting  views  on  all  questions  under  heaven ;  and 
if  there  was  one  form  of  womankind  more  unut- 
terably disagreeable  than  any  other,  it  was  females 
with  "views!"  That  he,  Aleck  Palmer,  a  million- 
aire in  his  own  name  and  with  almost  unlimited 
prospective  wealth  not  only,  but  with  the  most 
dazzling  political  prospects  opening  before  him, 
should  actually  be  trammeled  and  thwarted  by 
this  soft-voiced,  fair-browed  young  girl,  who  had 
had  mind  of  her  own  enough  where  other  people 
were  concerned,  but  had  always  been  ready  to 
defer  to  his  slightest  wish,  was  unbearable.  All 
this,  he  told  himself  for  the  dozenth  time,  was 
because  they  had  put  a  whining,  meddling  fanatic 
into  the  pulpit.  "  Confound  the  puppy  !  "  he  said, 
shutting  his  teeth  together  hard.  And  he  did 
not  know  that  in  his  rage  he  had  chosen  the  same 
descriptive  noun  which  the  courtly,  middle-aged 
officer  of  the  church  had  used  in  reference  to  his 
pastor ! 


354  COMPLICATIONS. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


BY     PANSY. 


COMPLICATIONS. 

BUT  this  mood  passed.  Aleck  Palmer  was 
not  thirty-six  hours  older  before  he  was 
made  aware  that  it  was  all  very  well  for  him  to 
say  that  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
Elsie  Chilton ;  the  fact  remained  that  this  fair- 
faced  girl,  with  her  sweet  voice  and  thoughtful 
eyes,  held  a  place  in  his  heart  from  which  not 
even  her  unaccountable  lack  of  sympathy  with 
his  views  could  remove  her.  He  was  even  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  there  had  been  of  late 
^an  added  something  about  her,  which,  while  it 
annoyed,  at  the  same  time  held  him.  It  was 
of  no  use  to  think  of  giving  her  up. 

Moreover  —  and  here  the  caliber  of  the  man 
showed  itself  —  they  had  gone  too  far  to  consider 
such  a  question ! 


COMPLICATIONS.  355 

In  the  circle  in  which  both  moved,  it  was 
the  recognized  thing  to  make  no  secrets  of 
p  marriage  engagements. 

Perhaps  the  most  sensible  position  which  the 
fashionable  world  took  at  that  time,  was  the 
eminently  proper  one  of  behaving  in  a  rational 
manner  in  this  respect ;  instead  of  acting  as 
though  an  engagement  involving  marriage  was 
a  thing  to  be  concealed,  to  be  blushed  over,  to 
be  giggled  over,  to  be  covered  with  language 
which,  if  not  utterly  false,  approached  to  the  very 
verge  of  falsehood,  fashion  decreed  that  marriage 
engagements  should  be  duly  announced,  at  a  con- 
venient time,  and  congratulations  were  received 
with  the  dignity  which  the  subject  demanded. 

Among  their  intimate  friends  the  Chilton- 
Palmer  engagement  had  been  formally  announced 
and  the  usual  courtesies  exchanged.  Therefore, 
for  Aleck  Palmer  to  have  the  petty  gossips  of  their 
world  set  on  the  qui  vive  over  their  affairs,  whis- 
pering that  the  engagement  had  been  broken  off, 
and  conjecturing  all  sorts  of  wild  reasons,  was 
a  humiliation  not  to  be  thought  of. 

Almost  stronger  than  his  ambitious  schemes 
and  his  love  for  his  own  way,  was  this  gentle- 
man's pride.  Not  that  he  had  the  remotest  idea 
of  giving  up  his  own  way.  So  little  did  he 
understand  the  young  woman  whom  he  expected 
to  marry,  that  it  did  not  seriously  occur  to  him 


356  COMPLICATIONS. 

there  could  be  two  settled  opinions  about  the 
way  to  take;  his  judgment  would  rule,  of  course, 
in  all  outward  affairs ;  only,  it  was  so  disagree- 
able—  so  like  second-rate  novels,  he  told  himself 
in  a  vexed  consciousness  —  to  have  discussions 
over  such  matters !  But  for  the  unwarrant- 
able interference  of  the  Remingtons  with  their 
affairs,  and  their  unaccountable  influence  over 
Elsie,  nothing  of  this  sort  would  have  occurred 
to  mar  his  peace. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  he  grew  more  out  of 
tolerance  every  moment  with  people  whom  he 
had  never  liked  ?  Yet  he  anticipated  no  serious 
trouble.  Why  should  there  be  trouble?  Was 
he  not  Alexander  Roosevelt  Palmer  ?  The  blood 
of  more  than  a  dozen  "first  families"  flowed  in 
his  veins. 

"Of  course,"  he  said  to  himself,  "Elsie's  words 
to-night  were  worth  no  more  than  mine.  She 
was,  like  myself,  excited.  She  is  as  true  as  steel 
everywhere  and  always ;  and  as  for  pride,  the 
Chilton  blood  does  not  flow  in  very  lowly  chan- 
nels. Beside"  — 

The  idea  involved  in  that  last  "beside"  he 
did  not  formulate  even  in  thought.  It  really 
meant  — "  The  idea  of  any  sane  girl  voluntarily 
releasing  Aleck  Palmer  from  an  engagement  of 
marriage ! " 

His    decision,    after    mature    deliberation,    and 


COMPLICATIONS.  357 

having  given  his  first  anger  time  to  cool,  was 
that  he  would  be  extremely  judicious.  It  would 
certainly  be  well  to  let  Elsie  understand  that 
it  was  not  wise  to  trifle  with  him  in  the  way  she 
had  been  doing;  a  little  dignified  holding  aloof, 
he  resolved,  would  be  excellent  for  her.  To 
this  end  he  absented  himself  for  more  than  a 
week;  merely  taking  the  precaution  to  send  a 
note  to  Mr.  Chilton,  asking  if  he  could  serve 
him  in  any  way  in  Boston,  whither  he  had  deter- 
mined to  go,  on  business.  Also,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  week  or  so,  he  let  Mr.  Chilton  know,  inci- 
dentally, that  he  had  returned.  Yet  it  was  sev- 
eral days  before  he  made  any  demonstration  to 
Elsie.  However,  nearly  two  weeks  from  the 
time  when  he  had  taken  his  abrupt  leave  of  her 
she  received  by  a  special  messenger,  the  following 
note  — 

MY  DEAR  ELSIE: 

You  have  of  course  heard,  through  your  father,  that  I  have 
been  absent  on  business.  It  detained  me  longer  than  I  had 
expected,  and  since  my  return  I  have  been  too  closely  confined 
to  important  duties  even  to  write  to  you.  This  evening  will  be 
my  first  leisure  hour,  and  I  shall  hasten  to  be  with  you  at  as 
early  a  moment  as  possible. 

I  hardly  know  whether  it  is  wise  to  refer  at  all  to  our  last 
somewhat  trying  interview.  Of  course  I  give  you  credit  for  too 
much  good  sense  to  have  taken  to  heart  the  somewhat  strong 
language  which  I  believe  I  used  at  that  time.  Indeed,  if  I 
remember  correctly,  you  were  also  somewhat  unfortunate  as  to 
your  choice  of  words ;  the  truth  is,  we  were  both  excited,  unduly 


35$  COMPLICATIONS. 

so,  I  now  think,  and  perhaps  were  not  responsible  for  our  words ; 
at  least,  I  am  willing  to  forget  those  of  yours  which  grieved  me. 
1  have  now  to  propose  that  we  drop  all  discordant  themes — sink 
them  into  oblivion,  I  hope. 

Perhaps  the  wise  way  for  both  of  us  will  be  to  ignore  the 
recent  past  and  commence  anew.  I  have  something  of  import- 
ance to  bring  to  your  consideration ;  something  which  is  exceed- 
ingly pleasant  to  me,  and  which  I  trust  will  be  not  unpleasant  to 
you.  But  enough  of  this  on  paper;  I  am  pressed  for  time,  and 
yet  can  scarcely  wait  for  evening. 

I  am,  yours  as  ever, 

ALECK. 

Over  this  letter  Elsie  had  grown  pale,  to  the 
degree  that  her  step-mother,  who  entered  her  room 
at  the  moment  of  its  reading,  paused  in  dismay, 
and  said,  hastily — "Elsie,  what  can  be  the  mat- 
ter? Is  there  a  ghost  hidden  in  that  note?  Is 
anything  wrong  with  Aleck  ?  "  Mrs.  Chilton  was 
unaware  of  any  coldness  between  the  young  peo- 
ple. Mind  and  heart  had  been  busy  with  her  own 
affairs  of  late,  to  the  extent  that  she  had  almost 
forgotten  her  anxieties  concerning  them.  You 
will  remember  that  she  was  summoned  hastily  to 
her  mother's  dying  bed.  She  had  been  much 
separated  from  her  early  home,  and  had  never 
been  a  daughter  who  was  in  all  respects  congenial 
to  her  mother.  Yet,  the  summons  home  for  such 
a  cause  had  been  a  shock ;  she  had  not  realized 
that  one  belonging  to  her  could  die!  Despite 
the  uncongeniality  and  the  long  years  of  separa- 
tion, mother  is  mother,  still ;  and  Mrs.  Chilton's 


COMPLICATIONS.  359 

tears  fell  fast  over  her  coffin  ;  and  the  people 
looked  on  pitifully,  and  told  one  another  how 
inconsolable  she  was,  and  how  beautiful  she 
looked  in  her  mourning.  And  Mrs.  Chilton  came 
home  again  as  soon  as  custom  had  decreed  that 
it  would  do.  At  times  she  thought  that  there 
had  come  a  gloom  into  her  life,  and  sighed;  at 
times  she  felt  that  mourning  was  becoming  to 
her,  and  it  was  well  it  was,  for  Robert  would  not 
like  her  to  look  dismal. 

There  were  many  "duties  to  society"  that  even 
in  her  mourning  it  seemed  proper  for  her  to 
remember ;  still  the  episode  gave  a  sort  of  relief 
to  the  whirl  of  engagements,  enabling  her  to 
excuse  herself  where  she  desired  to  be  excused 
and  to  accept  with  becoming  gravity  certain  invi- 
tations which  she  wanted  to.  Always  prefacing 
such  acceptances  with  a  little  sigh,  and  the  grave 
statement  that  one  must  not  be  selfish  in  one's 
grief.  These  and  kindred  duties  her  mind  had 
been  busy  with  during  the  early  days  of  her 
return.  Elsie  and  her  prospects  had  slipped  into 
the  background.  But  that  pallid  face  put  her  on 
the  alert  again.  She  questioned  Mr.  Chilton 
when  he  came  by  appointment  for  her  to  ride. 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  are  about,"  he  grum- 
bled. "  Elsie  is  being  an  idiot,  probably ;  she 
seems  to  have  taken  up  that  role  lately,  and  plays 
it  extremely  well.  Palmer  has  been  away  on  busi- 


360  COMPLICATIONS. 

ness ;  he  wrote,  asking  me  to  let  Elsie  know ;  I 
thought  it  would  have  been  more  in  keeping  if  he 
had  written  her,  and  I  suppose  some  quarrel 
between  them  is  the  reason  of  his  not  doing  so ; 
but  I  asked  no  questions  —  if  they  cannot  manage 
their  affairs  without  my  help  I'm  sorry  for  them. 
Yes,  Palmer  has  been  at  home  for  two  days  at 
least  —  I  don't  know  but  three  ;  hasn't  he  called  ? 
They  both  need  masters ;  a  couple  of  silly  chil- 
dren playing  at  life."  Silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  this  — 

"Try  to  find  out,  Augusta,  how  matters  stand. 
I'm  so  vexed  with  Elsie  that  I  don't  want  to 
talk  with  her  about  that  or  anything  else.  Oh, 
there  is  nothing  particularly  new;  some  of  that 
fanatical  preacher's  ideas  coming  to  the  front. 
But  there  must  be  no  break  with  Palmer;  that  she 
must  understand.  I'll  have  no  daughter  of  mine 
posing  in  such  a  character  before  the  gossips; 
beside  "  — 

And  his  wife  knew  that  that  "  beside  "  covered 
a  multitude  of  reasons  why  there  must  be  no 
"break  with  Palmer."  Business  reasons,  more  im- 
portant than  those  which  affected  merely  human 
t  hearts. 

As  for  Elsie,  she  still  sat  in  her  room  where 
her  step-mother  had  left  her.  She  had  been  glad 
when  she  saw  her  father  and  mother  drive  away; 
she  wanted  to  be  alone  in  the  house;  she  felt 


COMPLICATIONS.  36! 

overwhelmed  with  the  burden  of  her  troubles. 
The  ten  days  just  past  had  been  days  to  remem- 
ber. There  had  been  a  fierce  battle  fought  with 
the  tempter,  and  she  almost  did  not  yet  know 
which  had  conquered. 

Sincere  to  the  heart's  core  herself,  she  had 
believed  that  the  words  with  which  Aleck  Palmer 
had  left  her  on  that  last  evening  they  had  spent 
together,  were  meant  to  be  final,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  But  she  also  believed  that  if  she 
would  write  to  him,  or  send  for  him  to  come  to 
her,  and  should  tell  him  that  the  ideas  which  had 
so  disturbed  him  should  be  put  aside;  that  she 
would  be  the  sort  of  woman  he  expected  her  to 
be,  the  sort  of  woman  he  believed  he  had  won, 
that  he  loved  her  enough  to  take  back  those  words 
of  separation,  and  declare  peace  between  them. 

Now  can  you  understand  the  fierceness  of  the 
battle?  Elsie  Chilton,  even  in  her  unthinking 
girlhood,  which  now  seemed  to  her  so  long  ago, 
was  not  one  to  pledge  herself  lightly.  With  her 
word  to  Aleck  Palmer  she  believed  she  had  given 
her  whole  heart.  Since  then  she  had  changed,  it 
is  true ;  and  she  recognized  sadly  that  there  were 
important  subjects  upon  which  she  and  her  prom- 
ised husband  did  not  agree.  There  had  been 
times,  especially  after  that  talk  with  Aunt  Han- 
nah, when  she  had  felt,  with  great  throbs  of  pain, 
that  perhaps-  Aunt  Hannah  was  right,  and  she 


362  COMPLICATIONS. 

ought  not  to  consummate  her  engagement  with 
one  not  in  sympathy  with  her  new  views  of  life. 
But  Elsie  Chilton's  higher  experience  had  been 
very  recent,  and  there  came  always  to  her  assist- 
ance the  memory  of  that  solemn  pledge  between 
them. 

"If  we  were  not  engaged,"  said  the  poor  girl, 
sorrowfully;  "if  I  had  not  in  the  most  solemn  and 
unreserved  manner  given  myself  to  him  for  life, 
and  if  he  should  ask  me  now,  for  the  first  time,  to 
be  his  wife,  I  should  know  that  I  must  not ;  but 
are  such  earnest  vows  as  I  made,  asking  God  to 
help  me,  to  count  for  nothing?" 

Under  this  heavy  conflict  of  "ought  I"  and 
"ought  I  not"  her  life  had  been  spent,  for 
weeks.  There  being  all  the  time,  however,  an 
undertone  belief  that  in  the  sight  of  God  she  was 
pledged ;  an  engagement  entered  into  deliberately, 
as  hers  had  been,  without  compulsion  of  any  sort, 
ought  perhaps  to  be  as  sacred  as  marriage.  Aunt 
Hannah  did  not  seem  to  think  so;  but  then, 
Aunt  Hannah  was  old,  and  thought  strongly  in 
certain  lines,  perhaps,  without  giving  due  regard 
to  arguments  on  the  other  side.  If  only  she  could 
know  without  asking,  what  her  pastor  thought ! 
But  she  shrank  from  going  over  the  subject  with 
him,  as  being  a  humiliation  too  deep  for  her,  and 
perhaps  dishonorable  to  Aleck.  "  If  I  only  had  a 
mother!  "  was  the  out-cry  of  this  poor  heart  many 


COMPLICATIONS.  363 

a  time  during  these  wearing  days ;  and  yet,  fool- 
ish lamb,  One  who  had  promised  to  be  more  than 
father  and  mother  to  his  own  was  leading  her 
through  the  darkness  all  the  time.  Into  the  per- 
plexities of  the  hour  had  come  those  parting 
words  of  Aleck's.  Now,  at  least,  according  to  her 
logic  of  a  little  while  before,  Elsie  knew  her  duty. 
He  had  hurriedly  and  utterly  thrown  off  the 
pledges  she  had  thought  to  be  so  binding ;  freed 
her  without  a  moment's  hesitation  as  to  his  right  to 
do  so ;  and  yet  she  was  not  at  rest.  She  shrank 
utterly  from  the  ordeal  through  which  mere  pas- 
siveness  on  her  side,  would  now  lead  her.  She 
thought  of  the  gossip  which  would  result,  and 
imagined  the  questions  levelled  at  her,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  eyes  from  those  who  would  not 
dare  to  question,  until  her  throat  burned  as 
though  it  had  been  scalded  with  the  words  which 
she  knew  she  would  have  to  bear.  Above  all,  she 
thought  of  her  father ;  how  entirely  his  heart  was 
set  upon  this  union  of  two  old  and  honorable 
names  she  hardly  understood ;  yet  enough  of  his 
strong  feeling  had  come  to  the  surface  to  make 
her  realize  the  importance  of  the  step  she  was 
now  considering.  Also,  there  was  her  step- 
mother. Elsie's  heart  cried  out  for  a  mother, 
yet  she  was  by  no  means  insensible  to  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Chilton  had  been  to  her  an  exception- 
ally good  step-mother.  She  had  petted  her  in  her 


364  COMPLICATIONS. 

childhood,  and  lavished  untold  thought  and  care 
upon  her  wardrobe,  her  home  appointments,  her 
interests  in  general  during  all  these  years ;  she, 
too,  had  set  her  heart  upon  this  marriage ;  had 
spared  no  pains  to  secure  to  Elsie  all  the  pleas- 
ures connected  with  this  period  of  her  life  which 
it  was  possible  to  secure  from  abundant  leisure 
and  unlimited  indulgence.  Elsie  had  been  all  her 
life  fond  of  her  step-mother ;  had  been  grateful  to 
her,  in  a  sense,  and  while  recognizing,  of  late,  as 
she  had  not  before,  the  great  void  which  was 
unfilled,  she  still  liked  her  step-mother  so  well 
that  the  thought  of  disappointing  her  in  this  dar- 
ling wish  of  her  life  was  a  deep,  added  pain. 

What  of  her  own  heart,  meantime  ?  Why,  per- 
haps you  will  be  able  to  understand  me  when  I 
say  that  Elsie  gave  it  extremely  little  attention. 
She  believed  that  of  course  it  would  ache.  Of 
course  she  loved  Aleck  Palmer,  and  of  course  it 
would  be  like  giving  up  part  of  her  life  to  give 
him  up;  that  was  to  be  accepted  as  part  of  the 
ordeal  which  needed  no  looking  at ;  the  only  ques- 
tion for  her,  after  all,  was  that  supreme  one  — 
"  What  is  Right  ?  " 

She  settled  it  at  last,  on  her  knees.  She  would 
write  no  letter,  speak  no  word  of  recall.  Since 
the  one  whom  she  had  given  the  right  to  hold  her 
pledged,  had  of  his  own  accord  given  back  her 
pledges,  she  would  not  in  any  way  place  upon  her- 


COMPLICATIONS.  365 

self  again,  vows  not  in  accord  with  the  supreme 
motive  which  must  from  henceforth  rule  her  life. 

She  had  barely  reached,  during  these  ten  days, 
the  quiet  stage  which  follows  an  important  decis- 
ion that  one  believes  to  be  final.  She  had  not 
yet  decided  how  or  when  to  reveal  the  state  of 
affairs  to  her  father  and  mother.  Circumstances 
favored  her  silence.  Her  father  held  himself 
aloof  and  immersed  in  business  to  an  unusual 
degree,  even  for  him ;  and  her  mother  was 
engaged  in  making  the  wheels  of  her  world  run 
smoothly  in  the  grooves  which  her  mourning 
made  necessary.  Very  soon  she  must  tell  them, 
but  for  the  present  she  would  hold  herself  quiet. 

Into  this  comparative  quiet  came  the  calm, 
assured  letter,  a  copy  of  which  I  have  given  you. 
A  letter  in  which  the  writer  claimed  her  as  com- 
posedly as  though  he  had  not  of  his  own  accord 
thrown  her  off  —  and  bade  her  let  the  subject 
upon  which  they  differed,  drop  forever  into 
oblivion  ! 

An  hour  after  its  reception,  she  still  sat  with 
the  letter  in  her  hand  and  a  feeling  almost  of  ter- 
ror in,  her  heart.  How  utterly  this  complicated 
her  life,  hedged  her  way !  What  was  the  next 
step  to  take  ?  But  before  she  had  time  to  com- 
mence an  answer  to  this  question,  there  came  an 
interruption  —  another  note.  The  gentleman  was 
waiting  for  an  answer,  the  servant  said.  Elsie 


366  COMPLICATIONS. 

did  not  recognize  the  writing,  but  made  haste  to 
read  — 

Miss  CHILTON: 

Dear  Friend — Your  little  Nellie  is  dying.  I  do  not  think 
that  she  can  live  through  the  evening.  Her  mother  tells  me  that 
since  yesterday  morning  she  has  begged  for  you  almost  con- 
stantly. So  distressed  was  the  poor  mother,  that  this  morning 
she  sent  a  messenger  to  your  father's  office  praying  you  to  come 
to  the  child.  I  assured  her  that  you  could  not  have  received  the 
word  or  you  would  have  been  there.  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to 
wait  at  your  door  for  answer  to  this,  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
permit  me  to  take  you  at  once  to  Foundry  Street.  I  pray  God 
that  we  may  not  be  too  late  to  grant  the  poor  little  sufferer's 
last  pitiful  wish.  Sincerely, 

EARLE  MASON. 

Before  this  note  was  fairly  read,  Elsie  was  on 
her  way  down-stairs. 

"Mr.  Mason,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "what  am  I 
to  do?  My  father  has  forbidden  my  going  to 
Nellie's  home  again ;  it  is  the  only  thing  which 
has  kept  me  from  her.  My  father  is  not  at  home, 
and  I  fear  I  cannot  reach  him  in  time.  What 
ought  I  to  do?" 

"My  dear  friend,  you  promised  to  come  again, 
and  the  child  is  dying !  There  can  be  no  possi- 
ble harm  in  your  keeping  your  word.  Your  father 
must  be  misinformed  as  to  the  locality.  It  is  a 
perfectly  decent  street,  though  the  people  living 
on  it  are  so  wretchedly  poor.  The  drunken  men 
who  find  their  homes  there,  are  not  on  the  street 


COMPLICATIONS.  367 

in  the  daytime.  As  for  the  poor  father,  he  is  in 
no  state  to  do  you  harm,  now ;  he  is  utterly 
crushed  with  grief  and  remorse.  Miss  Chilton, 
I  will  pledge  my  word  that  you  shall  not  be 
annoyed  in  any  way." 

Elsie  had  turned  toward  the  stairs  again  before 
his  sentence  was  concluded.  "Thank  you,"  she 
said,  quietly;  "I  will  be  ready  in  a  moment. 
Jean,"  to  the  servant  in  waiting,  "say  to  mamma 
when  she  returns  that  I  have  gone  to  Foundry 
Street  with  Mr.  Mason  to  see  my  little  Nellie; 
she  is  dying.  They  sent  for  me  this  morning  and 
I  did  not  receive  the  word.  Tell  mamma  I  will 
return  as  soon  as  I  can,  but  she  need  not  be  anx- 
ious about  me ;  Mr.  Mason  will  see  that  I  am 
taken  care  of." 

Very  soon  thereafter,  Mrs.  Chilton,  having 
dropped  her  husband  at  the  office,  and  picked  up 
Aleck  Palmer,  alighted  with  that  gentleman  from 
her  carriage,  and  led  the  way  to  her  own  door. 

"Take  a  seat  in  the  library,  Aleck;  you  will  be 
less  liable  to  interruption  there  ;  Jean,  say  to  Miss 
Elsie  that  Mr.  Palmer  is  here." 

"  Miss  Elsie  is  out,  ma'am,"  said  Jean,  awaiting 
further  orders. 

"Out!"  repeated  the  lady,  in  dismay.  "Are 
you  sure?  I  understood  her  that  she  was  not 
going  out  at  all  this  afternoon." 

"Yes,    ma'am,    I   am   quite  sure;    she   went   a 


368  COMPLICATIONS. 

little  while  ago.  She  was  called  away,  ma'am ;  it 
is  a  little  girl  —  one  of  her  Sunday  children  —  and 
she  is  dying ;  she  wanted  Miss  Elsie  bad ;  I 
heard  him  say  so  myself." 

" Heard  whom  say  so?  Why  do  you  not  speak 
so  that  I  can  understand  you?" 

"Mr.  Mason,  ma'am  —  he  came  for  her;  and 
she  said  to  tell  you  she  would  come  back  as  quick 
as  she  could ;  and  you  were  not  to  worry,  because 
Mr.  Mason  would  take  care  of  her." 

"I  believe  in  my  soul  she  is  infatuated  with 
that  fellow ! " 

It  was  Mr.  Palmer  who  muttered  this  sentence ; 
he  had  not  gone  to  the  library,  but  lingered  in 
the  hall  and  heard  Jean's  story.  Even  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton  was  displeased.  She  waited  only  for  the 
retreating  form  of  Jean  to  be  lost  to  sight,  then 
said  —  "Softly,  Aleck,  softly.  You  forget  that 
you  are  speaking  of  our  daughter.  That  is  not  a 
sentence  which  Elsie's  father  would  like  to  hear 
you  utter." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Chilton ;  I  hardly 
know  what  I  am  saying.  I  have  been  through  a 
fearful  ordeal  since  I  last  saw  you.  I  do  not 
know  —  come  into  the  library,  please,  and  let  me 
talk  to  you." 

An  hour  later  the  dinner-bell  sounded  in  the 
hall,  and  Mr.  Palmer  and  his  hostess  came  out 
from  the  library. 


COMPLICATIONS.  369 

"No,  I  will  not  stay  to  dinner,"  he  said;  "  I  am 
not  in  the  mood.  I  will  come  again,  perhaps ;  or, 
suppose  you  say  to  Elsie  that  at  any  time  when 
she  is  at  leisure  to  see  me,  she  might  send  me 
word." 

"  Do  not  be  foolishly  hard  on  the  child,  Aleck ; 
she  is  very  much  attached  to  her  little  scholars, 
and  is  easily  wrought  upon  in  any  way.  You 
must  make  all  due  allowance  for  the  peculiar  influ- 
ence under  which  she  has  been  drawn.  I  confess 
I  shall  be  glad  when  it  is  removed." 

"It  shall  be  removed,"  the  gentleman  said,  bit- 
terly, with,  an  ominous  drawing  down  of  his 
eyebrows. 

"  But  you  must  not  be  rash,  or  unduly  in  haste, 
Aleck,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  a  little  anxiously. 
"Such  matters  will  not  bear  precipitancy." 

"Good  evening,"  said  the  young  man,  still 
gloomily,  and  with  drawn  eyebrows.  He  looked 
as  though  he  did  not  care  how  rash  he  was ;  nor 
how  soon  Kensett  Square  church  had  a  vacant 
pulpit. 


3/O  A   MODERN    MARTYR. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


BY   MRS.    C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

THE  Elsie  Chilton  of  a  year  ago  would  have 
shuddered  at  the  bare  suggestion   of  her- 
self being  summoned  to  a  forlorn  tenement  house 
in  a  back  street  of  the  city  to  stand  by  a  dying 
bed. 

She  had  especially  shrunk  from  the  thought 
and  presence  of  death,  and  had  seen  a  face  where 
he  had  set  his  seal  but  once  or  twice  in  her  life. 
During  these  last  months  she  had  come  to  look 
.  upon  the  going  out  of  this  life  into  another  with 
different  feelings.  Christ  was  to  her  no  longer 
far  off  and  impalpable,  but  a  real  friend  and 
Redeemer  who  had  delivered  her  from  the  bond- 
age of  the  fear  of  death,  so  far  as  herself  was  con- 
cerned. And  yet  she  reflected  as  she  drew  near 
the  house  that  it  was  a  great  and  solemn  mystery, 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  3/1 

this  departure  of  a  soul  from  a  body,  and  if  there 
should  be  suffering  connected  with  it,  how  could 
she  bear  to  see  a  little  child  in  agony  ?  Despite  a 
great  effort  at  self-control  she  was  pale  and  trem- 
bling when  she  entered  the  room.  But  there  was 
no  need  for  fear  here.  Like  a  drooping  white  lily 
the  child  lay  back  among  her  pillows  sweetly 
breathing  her  life  out,  as  quietly  as  a  flower 
passes  away.  The  time  for  suffering  was  past, 
and  the  little  face  had  taken  on  that  look  of  sweet 
content  which  the  parting  soul  sometimes  leaves 
behind  when  the  veil  has  been  lifted,  and  a 
glimpse  of  the  glory  to  come  has  dawned  upon  it. 

If  pity  were  needed  it  was  for  the  father ;  the 
strong  man  who  knelt  by  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his 
whole  form  shaking  with  repressed  sobs  and 
groans.  Can  any  agony  be  greater  than  that  of 
remorse  ? 

" Teacher  has  come,"  said  Nellie's  mother. 

The  brown  eyes  opened  then  and  rested  with  a 
glad  look  on  the  one  she  had  so  longed  for. 

"Jesus  has  come  for  me,"  the  faint  little  voice 
whispered  as  Elsie  bent  over  her;  "I  love  you, 
teacher."  And  the  eyes  closed  again. 

There  came  a  long,  quivering  breath,  and  they 
thought  she  was  gone;  but  she  opened  wide  her 
eyes  once  more,  searching  for  her  father,  and  her 
voice  rang  out  clear  and  strong  as  if  new  strength 
had  been  given  for  the  last  sweet  mission. 


372  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

"  Papa,  take  me !  "  she  said.  Sitting  down  on 
the  bed  he  lifted  her  head  in  his  arms.  She 
smiled  up  into  his  face,  murmuring  "Dear  papa ! " 
Then  lying  back  as  if  satisfied,  whispered,  "  Sing, 
'Jesus,  lover' " 

Then  was  stillness  for  a  moment,  broken  only 
by  sounds  of  weeping ;  then  Elsie's  voice,  at  first 
choked  by  sobs,  but  gaining  the  mastery  of  itself, 
went  out  in  the  sweet,  clear  notes  of  the  old  love- 
song  which  has  so  comforted  God's  saints  during 
the  last  hundred  years  — 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly." 

Elsie  paused  after  the  first  verse,  but  the  eyes 
unclosed  again  and  cast  a  pleading  look,  and  the 
low  sweet  music  went  on  through  the  whole  hymn. 
With  the  last  notes  little  Nellie  looked  about  on 
them  all,  smiled  a  good-by,  and  was  gone,  her  spirit 
risen  to  that  eternity  so  far  away,  we  are  apt  to 
think,  and  yet  quite  near  to  each  one  of  us. 

The  hymn  was  not  one  the  singer  would  have 
chosen,  and  she  thought  the  choice  a  strange  one 
for  a  child,  but  she  did  not  know  that  it  was  the 
lullaby  song  which  had  fallen  first  on  Nellie's 
baby  ears,  and  that  from  hearing  it  all  through  the 
years  she  loved  it  better  even  than  her  favorite 
Sabbath  School  hymns.  And  then  the  Spirit  who 
put  it  into  Nellie's  heart  to  ask  for  it  is  wise.  It 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  373 

was  not  a  mere  happening.  This  was  the  hymn 
her  father  and  mother  had  sung  together  before 
she  could  remember.  It  was  when  George  Forbes 
was  a  sober,  industrious  man,  who  feared  God  and 
kept  the  commandments  ;  when  he  loved  his  home 
and  sat  and  sang  by  the  fireside  with  his  wife. 

The  wife  had  sung  it  when  her  heart  was  break- 
ing. How  her  soul  had  gone  up  to  God  again  and 
again  in  low,  sad  song  in  the  words  — 

"Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee; 
Leave,  ah  leave  me  not  alone! 
Still  support  and  comfort  me." 

The  singing  was  rarely  sweet,  the  consumma- 
tion of  true  art ;  each  word  being  articulated  per- 
fectly ;  and  it  accomplished  that  whereunto  it  was 
sent ;  comforted  the  sad  mother  and  brought  deep 
conviction  to  the  sinning  father.  It  did  more  for 
George  Forbes ;  with  that  precious  head  in  his 
arms,  and  the  hymn  sacred  to  such  dear  memo- 
ries sounding  in  his  ears,  he  sent  up  a  swift  prayer 
of  contrition  and  faith  which  sprang  into  his  heart 
in  the  very  words  of  the  hymn  — 

"  Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am." 

It  was  heard,  and  he  was  saved  because  the 
prayer  was  a  real  one,  and  because  it  is  written  — 


374  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

"If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just 
to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all 
unrighteousness." 

The  few  words  of  prayer  that  Mr.  Mason  spoke, 
seemed  to  recognize  what  had  gone  on  in  the 
heart  of  the  man  and  to  bear  him  in  strong  faith 
to  God.  While  he  pleaded  for  comfort  and 
strength  and  guidance  to  be  bestowed  upon  those 
who  needed  God's  loving  thought  in  their  sorrow, 
Elsie,  joining  her  heart  in  the  petitions,  could  rise 
for  the  moment  above  her  own  griefs,  and  rejoice 
that  into  the  midst  of  this  sorrow  and  trouble  it 
was  possible  for  the  peace  of  heaven  to  descend. 

Mr.  Mason  and  Elsie  were  silent  as  they  went 
on  their  way,  each  busy  with  thoughts  stirred 
by  the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed.  Elsie, 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  sad  tragedy  again, 
experienced  the  same  rush  of  indignant  feeling, 
when  she  remembered  the  cause  of  it  all,  and 
a  deep  blush  of  shame  dyed  her  cheek  at  the 
thought  that  her  own  father  was  not  free  from 
guilt  in  the  matter;  and  that  the  man  whom 
she  had  promised  to  marry  had  signed  a  peti- 
tion asking  that  the  poison  which  crazed  the 
brain  of  this  wretched  father  might  continue  to 
tempt  him.  Aleck  Palmer  was  again  brought 
into  unfavorable  contrast  with  this  other  one, 
who  went  about  battling  the  wrong  and  comfort- 
ing the  sorrowing.  If  Aleck  had  been  in  the 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  375 

habit  of  prayer,  could  he  have  got  so  far  wrong  ? 
But  her  father  prayed  in  the  family  and  social 
meeting,  and  yet  he,  too,  seemed  to  be  on  the 
wrong  side  of  this  question. 

"  Life  is  very  different  from  what  I  used  to 
suppose,"  she  said,  speaking  suddenly  out  of  her 
thoughts ;  "  the  world  is  filled  with  sorrow  and 
wrong-doing." 

Mr.  Mason  cast  a  pitying  glance  at  the 
troubled  face.  Perhaps  he  ought  not  to  have 
brought  to  her  any  added  burden ;  he  had  noticed 
during  the  last  weeks  that  the  care-free  expres- 
sion was  gone  from  her,  and  an  anxious  look 
seemed  to  have  taken  its  place.  He  believed 
that  women  should  be  brave  and  helpful  in  the 
conflicts  of  life,  and  yet  somehow,  he  felt  an 
instinctive  desire  to  shield  this  one  from  its 
rough  places.  They  were  so  new  to  her,  and 
she  seemed  so  guileless,  so  grieved  and  surprised 
at  sin  and  inconsistency. 

"You  are  forgetting,  Miss  Chilton,"  he  said, 
smiling,  "that  with  most  of  us  the  bright  days 
far  outnumber  the  dark  ones ;  and  you  do  not 
remember  the  multitude  who  are  engaged  in 
right-doing." 

"Yes,  it  sounds  like  an  ungrateful  speech,  I 
know,  but  it  has  all  come  to  me  so  suddenly.  I 
think  I  must  have  been  asleep,  these  years.  Mr. 
Mason,  I  am  so  perplexed.  How  do  you  account 


3/6  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

for  it  that  good  men  see  things  so  differently? 
How  can  they  pray  'Thy  kingdom  come,'  and 
then  not  do  every  possible  thing  to  put  sin  out 
of  the  land?  How  can  they  vote  for  license, 
and  rent  buildings  for  liquor  selling?  Are  they 
to  be  called  hypocrites  ? " 

"You  have  asked  me  some  hard  questions. 
At  least,  they  would  be,  if  there  were  not  an 
explanation.  I  do  not  think  we  would  be  justified 
in  denouncing  as  hypocrites  all  men  who  hold 
what  we  consider  erroneous  views  on  certain 
questions ;  some  are  blinded.  We  must  not 
ignore  the  fact  that  Satan  is  very  busy  in  this 
world.  I  have  not  a  doubt  but  that  he  planned 
the  liquor  traffic  from  beginning  to  end ;  that  it  is 
one  of  the  chief  means  on  which  he  depends  to 
deceive  and  destroy  souls.  What  could  be  more 
Satanic  than  to  deliberately,  for  money,  set  up  to 
sell  an  article  which  always  harms  the  one  who 
takes  it  ?  What  more  cunning  device  could  be 
invented,  than  to  put  it  into  the  hearts  of  Chris- 
tians to  tamper  and  dally  with  this  sin  instead  of 
laying  the  axe  to  the  root  of  the  tree?  I  grow 
impatient  at  the  manner  in  which  we  deal  with  it ; 
at  the  slow  progress  we  make.  If  all  Christians 
were  of  one  heart  and  one  voice  on  this  question, 
we  could  put  away  the  evil.  It  is  indeed  humilia- 
ting that  it  is  they  who  block  the  wheels.  When 
some  good  men  bestir  themselves  on  this  subject, 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  3/7 

that  arch  deceiver  is  at  hand ;  and  he  works 
largely  through  politicians.  How  he  must  laugh 
for  very  glee  to  see  God's  people  helping  to 
regulate  sin,  licensing  it,  using  its  revenues  to 
build  almshouses,  inebriate  asylums  and  prisons. 
How  he  mocks  when  they  rejoice  that  the  saloons 
in  their  town  are  cut  down  from  fifty  to  ten, 
counting  it  a  long  step  in  progress !  Satan  can 
send  souls  to  eternal  ruin  through  one  saloon. 
And  when  even  Christian  ministers,  who  see  other 
things  so  clearly,  have  the  veil  over  their  eyes, 
too,  when  some  of  them  in  high  places  drink 
wine,  themselves,  and  declare  to  young  men  — 
'Beer  is  no  more  injurious  than  tea,'  is  he  not 
satisfied,  exultant  ?  Especially  when  the  thing 
goes  on  and  on  through  the  generations.  But 
the  end  will  come.  It  does  not  require  much 
of  a  prophet  to  foresee  that  a  crisis  is  not  ages 
off.  There  will  be  a  fierce  conflict ;  perhaps  it 
will  come  in  our  day,  Miss  Chilton.  We  may  be 
martyrs  for  the  truth's  sake." 

"It  has  come.  I  am  one,"  she  said,  with  a 
tremble  in  her  voice.  "I"  —  and  then  she 
closed  her  lips.  Her  father's  name  should  never 
be  mentioned  in  connection  with  blame — and 
that  other  trouble  —  she  could  not  speak  of  that. 

"Can  I  serve  you  in  any  way?"  Mr.  Mason 
asked,  with  a  touch  of  reverence  in  tone  and  man- 
ner which  Elsie  noticed. 


3/8  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

Aleck  Palmer  was  authority  in  all  matters  per- 
taining to  "good  form,"  yet  his  manner  lacked 
that  indefinable  something  which  people  of  fine 
perceptions  recognize  and  appreciate,  and  there 
was  about  him  a  trace  of  condescension,  even  to 
his  superiors.  He  had  grown  up  believing  that 
people  and  things  were  created  to  minister  to  his 
enjoyment  and  his  convenience.  He  reverenced 
nobody  so  much  as  himself. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  try- 
ing to  steady  her  voice;  "you  can.  I  wilt  say  in 
confidence  to  you  that  I  am  in  great  perplexity 
and  sorrow,  partly  on  account  of  this  subject;  and 
I  wish  you  would  pray  for  me  and  for  two  of  my 
friends  who  are  'blinded '  in  the  way  you  speak  of." 

"I  will,"  he  said,  heartily;  "and  will,  beside,  do 
your  bidding  in  any  way  in  which  you  will  trust 
me.  But  do  not  be  cast  down,  my  friend.  Re- 
member He  said  —  '  He  shall  deliver  thee  in  six 
troubles  ;  yea,  in  seven,  there  shall  no  evil  touch 
thee.'  Seven  in  the  Scriptures,  you  know,  stands 
for  completeness.  That  covers  all  troubles.  And 
He  is  able." 

"I  never  knew  what  the  verse  meant  before; 
thank  you,  I  will  try  to  remember,"  Elsie  said, 
as  she  bade  him  good-night  at  her  own  door. 

She  went  in  with  the  thought  in  her  mind  that 
Mr.  Mason  always  lifted  her  up  out  of  self,  and 
made  her  stronger. 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  379 

She  needed  all  comforting  suggestions,  for  a 
storm  awaited  her.  Her  father  was  more  angry 
than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  her  stepmother 
did  not  as  usual  try  to  mollify  him,  and  shield 
Elsie,  in  order  to  make  the  evening  pass  pleas- 
antly ;  she  was  herself  too  much  displeased. 
When  Mr.  Chilton  was  angry  he  was  always 
sternly  quiet  for  a  time.  His  daughter  knew  as 
soon  as  she  saw  his  white,  set  face,  that  there  was 
fresh  cause  for  trouble.  It  was  a  pleasant,  home- 
like room  to  which  she  came ;  the  grate  glowed 
brightly,  the  lamp  was  softly  shaded,  and  easy- 
chairs  stood  invitingly  about  the  fire. 

"  Such  a  pleasant  room  !  "  a  passing  beggar- 
girl  sighed  to  herself  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  warmth  and  brightness  through  the  parted 
curtains ;  "  and  such  a  pretty  girl !  Oh,  if  I  was 
her!" 

Then  she  took  up  her  basket  and  trudged  on, 
never  dreaming  that  in  that  room,  dark  passions 
dimmed  the  brightness,  and  the  one  she  had 
envied  carried  a  heavy  heart. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  have  returned?"  Mrs. 
Chilton  said,  in  icy  tones;  "what  you  mean  by 
such  conduct  passes  my  comprehension.  Here 
Aleck  has  been  waiting  for  you  a  long  time,  and 
has  gone  away  deeply  offended.  It  seems  he  sent 
you  a  note  that  he  had  returned  and  that  you 
might  expect  him  this  afternoon  or  evening. 


380  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

Behold,  when  he  comes  he  finds  you  gone  out 
with  Mr.  Mason !  Explanations  are  in  order,  I 
should  say." 

Elsie  was  not  naturally  meek,  but  she  was  striv- 
ing to  grow  in  that  grace,  and  in  the  second 
before  she  answered,  remembered —  "He  is  able," 
and  sent  a  swift  prayer  for  help  to  control  her 
speech. 

"I  had  not  time  to  write  a  note,"  she  said; 
"there  was  need  for  great  haste.  The  little  girl 
was  dying ;  but  I  left  word  with  Jean  where  I  had 
gone.  Did  she  not  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Since  when  did  you  deem  it  your  duty  to  hold 
yourself  in  readiness  to  go  at  a  minute's  warning 
to  any  beggar's  house  who  should  happen  to 
demand  your  presence  ?  This  must  not  go  on,  Mr. 
Chilton.  We  shall  have  all  sorts  of  vermin  intro- 
duced into  the  house,  as  well  as  malignant  dis- 
eases. I  was  never  in  favor  of  her  taking  a  class  in 
that  mission  school.  You  see  what  it  has  come  to." 

"  Mamma,  pardon  me,  you  are  mistaken.  The 
house  where  I  went  was  very  clean,  though  they 
are  poor,  and  there  was  no  contagious  disease. 
The  little  girl  died  from  the  effects  of  an  injury. 
I  was  obliged  to  go;  she  wanted  me.  She  was 
that  dear  little  Nellie  whom  I  loved  so  much." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  in  the  new  role  you  have 
adopted  you  have  consulted  everybody's  wishes 
but  your  father's." 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  381 

It  was  Mr.  Chilton's  voice  now,  cold  and  hard. 
"  If  I  remember  aright,  I  commanded  you  not  to 
go  to  that  place  again." 

"Commanded !     I  am  twenty  years  old,  papa." 

There  was  all  the  pride  and  haughtiness  of 
the  father  visible  in  the  daughter's  face  now.  It 
was  but  for  an  instant,  though.  She  remembered 
her  "high  calling"  and  the  fifth  commandment; 
the  proud  curves  went  out  of  her  mouth  and  her 
head  drooped. 

"Papa,  forgive  me.  I  should  not  have  said 
that.  But  did  you  not  know  it  was  not  necessary 
to  command  me  ?  I  understood  you  I  was  not  to 
make  a  practice  of  going  there,  and  I  have  not 
been  since.  I  thought  you  would  not  object  if  I 
had  an  escort,  and  in  such  a  case.  I  have  loved 
to  carry  out  your  wishes  and  I  always  shall  — 
unless  —  unless  they  are  contrary  to  my  convic- 
tions of  right." 

"Hear  that!"  said  Mr.  Chilton.  "What  imper- 
tinence !  As  if  I  would  counsel  you  to  do  wrong. 
It  is  true  I  had  no  occasion  to  complain  of  you 
until  you  became  overmuch  righteous.  As  it  is, 
you  are  growing  perfectly  insufferable ;  now  we 
will  have  an  end  of  such  nonsense  once  for  all. 
As  long  as  you  are  in  my  house  you  will  obey  me 
whether  you  are  twenty  or  forty  years  old.  Here 
are  some  commands :  You  are  to  separate  your- 
self from  that  society  of  ranting  women  who, 


382  A    MODERN    MARTYR. 

under  cover  of  temperance  work,  are  clamoring 
for  the  ballot  and  other  unwomanly  follies.  You 
will  give  up  your  class  in  that  mission  school. 
There  are  plenty  of  proper  persons  to  engage 
in  teaching  ragamuffins.  Let  them  hire  poor 
women  to  do  it ;  there  is  money  enough.  And 
you  are  to  stop  trifling  with  Mr.  Palmer.  A  flirt 
is  a  most  despicable  character.  You  have  amused 
yourself  with  Mason  long  enough.  No  more 
nonsense  of  that  sort.  He  is  another  fanatic. 
I  presume  he  is  responsible  for  some  of  your 
newly-fledged  opinions.  I  warn  you  that  Aleck 
Palmer  is  in  no  mood  to  be  trifled  with.  When  a 
girl  succeeds  in  making  a  man  like  him,  jealous, 
it  will  not  be  well  for  her.  If  by  your  folly  you 
lose  him  utterly  and  bring  upon  yourself  and  us 
the  disgrace  of  a  broken  engagement  after  it  has 
been  made  public,  I  will  not  answer  for  the 
consequences.  I  wish  you  to  write  him  a  humble 
apology  and  smooth  matters  out  between  you. 
See  to  it  that  it  goes  to  him  to-night.  If  you 
are  too  young  and  foolish  to  manage  your  love 
affairs,  they  must  be  managed  for  you." 

Elsie  tried  to  speak,  to  vindicate  herself  from 
such  charges,  but  she  could  not.  She  felt  as  if 
she  were  turned  to  stone.  She  arose  with  a  white 
face,  and  went  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

"She  will  come  to  her  senses  and  accept  the 
situation,"  her  father  said,  when  she  was  out  of 


A    MODERN    MARTYR.  383 

hearing;  "she  always  did  when  she  was  cornered, 
but  I  had  to  be  straight  up  and  down  with  her. 
I  must  own,  however,  that  this  is  an  entirely  new 
development.  It  does  not  run  in  the  Chilton 
blood  to  be  fickle." 

And  so  this  father  went  on  misjudging  his 
child,  not  understanding  her  motives  or  actions  in 
the  least. 


384  THREE    OF    US. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


BY   MRS.   C.    M.    LIVINGSTON. 


"THREE    OF    US." 

DESPITE  all  she  had  been  through,  and  the 
trouble  she  must  yet  face,  the  sorrow  which 
fell  with  crushing  force  upon  Elsie  as  she  sat  alone 
in  her  room  that  night,  was  connected  with  her 
father.  To  be  so  misunderstood,  to  be  so  shut  out 
from  him  by  a  wall  of  coldness,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  make  explanations,  was  terrible.  Her  ten- 
der spirit  quivered  under  the  memory  of  his  sharp 
words,  as  her  flesh  might  have  done  under  the 
cruel  cut  of  a  lash.  There  are  not  many  bitterer 
pangs  than  this  same  experience.  Why  do  earthly 
fathers,  who  were  meant  to  typify  the  heavenly, 
continually  misrepresent  the  divine  love  in  its 
infinite  tenderness  ? 

Her  sense  of  desolation  would  have  been  intol- 
erable,   if   she    had    not    thus    early    learned    the 


THREE    OF    US.  385 

blessed  secret,  which  usually  takes  a  lifetime,  that 
we  may  have  Jesus  Christ  as  our  confidential 
friend,  to  whom  we  may  whisper  thoughts  that  the 
dearest  earthly  friend  may  not  know.  K  was  even 
a  closer  relation  in  this  young  disciole's  case. 
Prayer,  with  her,  when  she  was  in  trouble,  was  a 
real  casting  herself  into  the  arms  of  divine  love, 
and  with  tears  and  broken  fragments  of  sentences, 
complaining  and  beseeching,  like  a  little  child  in 
the  arms  of  its  mother.  So  she  pleaded  now  for 
her  father,  that  his  heart  might  be  softened 
toward  her,  and  that  he  might  see  every  question 
in  the  light  of  eternity,  and  give  up  all  wrong  at 
whatever  sacrifice.  It  was  strange,  too,  to  be  ask- 
ing that  —  she,  who  had  through  all  these  years 
believed  her  father  to  be  everything  that  was  true 
and  noble ! 

And  now,  grown  somewhat  calmer,  she  attempt- 
ed to  look  in  the  face  this  other  problem  over 
which  she  had  been  puzzling  when  called  away, 
and  from  which  the  afternoon's  experience  had 
diverted  her  for  a  time.  Feeling  that  the  bond 
between  her  and  Aleck  Palmer  had  been  forever 
broken,  not  only  by  his  words  but  by  her  own 
conviction  that  it  was  right  and  best  that  it  should 
be  so,  she  had  been  earnestly  striving  to  school 
her  heart  into  submission  to  the  altered  state  of 
affairs.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  even  after 
she  began  to  suspect  that  the  virtues  with  which 


386  THREE    OF    US. 

she  had  vested  him,  existed  in  her  imagination 
only,  and  that  his  wealth  and  social  position  had 
cast  a  sort  of  glamour  upon  her.  There  was  bit- 
terness in  the  thought  that  she  had  possessed 
something  bright  and  beautiful  which  was  gone, 
and  there  was  a  dull  pain  and  a  dreary  sense  of 
loss;  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Her  sensitive 
nature  shrank,  too,  you  will  remember,  from  the 
ordeal  which  must  follow  as  soon  as  it  was  known 
that  the  engagement  was  broken.  The  anger  of 
her  father  and  mother,  the  criticism  or  pity  of  her 
friends  —  how  could  she  face  it  all? 

Now  this  letter  of  Aleck's  gave  her  an  opportu- 
nity to  escape  these  mortifying  experiences  and 
put  the  joy  back  into  her  life.  He  had  said  that 
they  would  drop  all  inharmonious  subjects.  Did 
that  mean  that  she  should  be  free  to  obey  her  con- 
science ?  Perhaps  so.  Was  there  so  pleasant  and 
easy  a  way  out  of  her  troubles  ?  But  then  came 
the  recollection  of  her  decision  made  a  short  time 
ago,  when  she  had  promised  before  God  to  be  true 
to  her  convictions  of  right.  What  was  right  ? 
There  were  solemn  promises  between  herself  and 
,  Aleck,  and  now  that  he  acknowledged  that  he  had 
spoken  in  anger  the  words  which  released  her, 
and  seemed  to  claim  her  as  his  own  still,  was  she 
justified  in  breaking  her  pledge  to  him?  But  a 
new  complication  arose.  This  time  it  was  in  her 
own  heart.  The  revelation  confronted  her  that 


THREE    OF    US.  387 

the  possibility  of  being  able  to  put  things  back  on 
the  same  footing  as  they  were,  gave  her  no  throb 
of  joy.  That  delicate  something  which  cannot  be 
compelled  or  analyzed,  and  which  put  him  in  her 
thought  above  all  others,  had  fled.  Like  a  flower 
chilled  by  the  frost,  the  beauty  had  gone  out  of  it. 
She  was  surprised  and  shocked.  Was  she  of  a 
cold,  fickle  temperament,  she  asked  herself,  that 
she  could  so  soon  harden  her  heart  against  one 
who  had  been  dear?  She  could  not  understand 
herself. 

If  she  had  been  wiser,  she  would  have  known 
that  a  fine  nature  like  hers,  renewed  and  illumined 
by  the  spirit  of  God,  would  find  it  difficult  to  con- 
tinue to  have  a  high  regard  for  one  whose  moral 
perceptions  were  dull,  and  who  was  so  conceited, 
blind  and  perverse  that  there  was  little  hope  for 
him. 

While  she  searched  her  heart,  blaming  herself 
that  the  thought  of  giving  up  Aleck  Palmer  did 
not  fairly  take  her  life  away,  she  reflected  that 
this  change  of  feeling  was  not  of  her  own  bring- 
ing about.  She  had  been  passive  in  the  apathy  of 
sorrow,  and  had  not  tried  to  steel  herself  against 
him ;  even  though  at  times  some  manifestation  on 
his  part  of  a  domineering  spirit,  or  of  selfish- 
ness and  jealousy  had  awakened  within  her  a  feel- 
ing very  like  contempt,  although  she  did  not 
recognize  it  as  such.  Yet  she  had  left  it  all  with 


$88  THREE    OF    US. 

God;  had  even  prayed  that  He  would  take  the 
obstacles  out  of  the  way  of  her  becoming  the  wife 
of  Aleck  Palmer,  or  that  He  would  give  her  grace 
to  bear  the  separation.  Was  this  His  answer? 
For  she  was  startled  at  the  discovery  that  even 
though  the  effort  should  be  made,  she  could  not 
put  this  man  back  into  the  place  he  had  once 
filled.  And  then  again  there  swept  over  her  that 
feeling  of  pity  for  him  to  whom  she  had  for 
munths  been  in  dear  relations.  There  came,  too, 
a  suggestion  that  perhaps  it  was  her  duty  to  do  as 
he  wished,  drop  all  discussion  of  clashing  views 
for  the  present,  and  try  once  more  to  persuade 
and  allure  him  into  the  right  path ;  in  other 
words,  try  to  shape  into  a  different  mold  the  char- 
acter which  seemed  so  warped  and  dwarfed.  But 
would  it  be  possible  for  her  to  marry  him  ?  It 
was  against  nature  and  against  Scripture  not  to 
reverence  the  one  who  was  to  bear  the  sacred 
name  of  husband.  If  this  reverence  were  lacking, 
could  there  be  true  affection  ?  Without  it,  would 
not  marriage  be  a  profanation  ?  If  Aleck  should 
change,  perhaps  her  love  for  him  would  come 
back.  Oh,  to  know  which  way  to  turn  !  There 
was  the  letter  her  father  had  told  her  to  write. 
He  little  knew  the  difficult  task  he  had  imposed. 
She  could  not  write  it !  Not  yet.  She  must 
seem  even  to  be  disobedient.  Oh,  the  perplexity 
and  the  tumult !  Would  she  ever  be  at  peace 


THREE    OF    US.  389 

again?  There  flashed  into  her  recollection  just 
then,  the  promise  Mr.  Mason  had  quoted  and 
explained  to  her.  "  He  shall  deliver  thee  in  six 
troubles ;  yea,  in  seven  there  shall  no  evil  touch 
thee,"  and  that  meant  " complete  deliverance!" 
She  would  ask  once  more  to  be  led.  She  would 
"trust  and  not  be  afra'd."  So  she  laid  herself 
down,  although  a  clock  in  a  near  steeple  chimed 
one  of  the  morning  hours  before  she  closed  her 
eyes  in  sleep. 

Meanwhile  there  had  come  into  the  midst  of 
the  storm  which  had  burst  over  the  head  of  John 
Remington,  a  brightness ;  for  in  the  dawn  of  one 
gray  morning  there  appeared  in  his  home  a  small 
stranger. 

It  was  the  old  mystery  of  life  once  more 
repeated  —  a  taper  lighted  never  more  to  go  out! 
A  new  soul  to  begin  an  earthly  pilgrimage ! 
To-day  it  is  here,  a  lit  le  time  ago  it  w  .s  —  where  ? 
How  beautifully  the  God  of  love  has  arranged  it 
all,  that  these  strange  souls  find  loving  welcome 
and  everything  in  readiness  —  the  cradle-bed,  soft 
and  white,  the  drawers  filled  with  daintily-fash- 
ioned garments  of  creamy  tint  and  finest  texture, 
downy  flannels,  fleecy  sacks,  and  wee,  warm  socks 
—  all  be-sprinkled  with  ribbons,  blue,  and  pink, 
and  white. 

Aunt  Hannah  opened  such  a  drawer  on  this 
eventful  morning,  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  cold 


390  THREE    OF    US. 

one,  and  searched  for  a  good,  sensible  blanket, 
with  which  to  cover  the  baby,  who  was  sweetly 
sleeping  in  his  crib.  She  found  one  and  tucked  it 
about  the  precious  little  bundle,  then  sat  down  in 
the  rocking  chair  by  its  side  and  drew  a  long, 
grateful,  satisfied  breath — John's  baby! 

Having  attended  to  all  the  physical  needs  of 
th'  :tom  of  humanity,  sitting  there  in  the  quiet 
room,  watching,  listening  to  the  delicate  breathing 
of  the  new  treasure,  she  began  a  work  for  him 
which  would  end  only  when  one  of  them  should 
leave  this  world.  It  was  as  natural  for  Aunt 
Hannah  to  pray,  as  to  breathe.  At  first  her  heart 
went  out  only  in  thanksgivings.  Then  the  peti- 
tions encircled  the  little  one  and  laid  him  by  faith 
in  the  arms  of  Infinite  Love.  Happy  child  !  To 
have  the  fragrance  of  prayer  breathed  about  his 
cradle  in  those  first  hours.  Will  not  the  life  voy- 
age be  safer  and  pleasanter  because  the  little  bark 
set  sail  amid  such  " favoring  gales"?  For  Aunt 
Hannah  was  not  the  only  one  who  prayed.  The 
young  father's  glad  heart  went  out,  too,  at  the 
dawn  of  day  alone  in  his  study,  in  thanksgivings, 
in  fervent  faith  laying  all  his  treasures  at  the  feet 
of  his  Lord.  For  the  time  he  dropped  his  bur- 
dens, rising  above  the  sense  of  defeat  and  humil- 
iation which  had  almost  overpowered  him  during 
the  last  few  weeks,  and  lejoiced  in  this  new  dig- 
nity and  honor  which  had  been  placed  upon  him. 


THREE    OF    US.  391 

It  is  strange,  though,  how  very  soon  people  can 
become  accustomed  even  to  the  presence  in  the 
house  of  a  little  new  being !  Before  three  weeks 
had  passed,  this  family  had  quite  adjusted  itself  to 
the  order  of  things.  The  baby  proved  to  be  the 
usual  tyrant,  but  they  cheerfully*  submitted.  John 
and  Aunt  Hannah  arose  early  or  stayed  up  late, 
just  as  his  highness  ordered ;  and  Aunt  Hannah 
said  to  John  —  "Hush,  you  will  wake  the  baby," 
quite  as  if  he  were  an  old  institution. 

Aunt  Hannah  looked  so  natural  with  baby's 
head  over  her  shoulder,  or  patting  his  back  while 
he  lay  face  downward  across  her  lap,  that  one 
wondered  what  she  could  have  been  about  before 
he  came,  while  John  and  Mattie  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  identity  except  as  "Baby's"  father  and 
mother. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  child?"  Aunt 
Hannah  asked  of  Mattie,  one  afternoon  as  she  sat 
by  the  crib,  looking  long  into  baby's  face.  She 
had  not  spoken  for  some  time,  and  Aunt  Hannah 
fancied  she  saw  a  shadow  on  her  face. 

"Why,  just  at  that  moment  I  was  really  taking 
in  the  idea  frtfthe  first  that  now  there  are  three 
of  us,  Aunt  fiannah  —  we  are  a  family  !  " 

Then  the  loving  old  aunt  saw  a  new  look  on  the 
face  of  John's  wife,  even  the  joy  and  sweet  con- 
tent of  mother-love. 

"  I  was  thinking,  too,  what  a  very  good  woman 


392  THREE    OF    US. 

I  must  be  now.  Little  children  should  make 
people  better.  My  baby  must  never  see  me  out 
of  temper.  I  thought  John  never  should,  but  he 
has.  Here  comes  a  must,  though  —  a  little  copyist 
who  will  imitate  us,  for  the  first  years  at  least, 
and  he  must  have  good  copies ;  the  after  life  will 
probably  hinge  on  the  first  years.  I  wonder  that 
parents  do  not  fairly  stand  in  awe  of  innocent 
eyes  looking  up  into  theirs,  wondering  and  judg- 
ing. There  is  one  thing,  at  least,  that  I  am  sure  I 
shall  never  do  to  this  precious  baby ;  and  that  is, 
punish  him  in  anger.  That  is  perfectly  fiendish. 
I  suppose  he  will  need  punishing"  —  drawing  a 
long  sigh  as  she  spoke ;  then  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  wise  old  face,  she  said : 

"  Aunt  Hannah,  there  is  a  pucker  in  each  cor- 
ner of  your  mouth  as  if  you  wanted  to  laugh  at 
me.  You  may ;  I  know  I  ought  not  to  be  lectur- 
ing on  the  best  methods  of  training  children, 
when  I  know  almost  nothing  about  it." 

"  You  have  got  a  long  step  on  the  right  road  if 
you  don't,"  Aunt  Hannah  said,  looking  up  from 
her  knitting  to  cast  a  tender  glance  on  the  young 
mother,  so  fair  and  so  wise.  How  blest  John  was 
in  such  a  wife!  If  the  world  should  be  searched, 
her  equal  could  not  be  found,  Aunt  Hannah  firmly 
believed. 

"I  wasn't  laughing  at  you  exactly,  child,  but  I 
was  thinking  in  how  many  ways  this  little  fellow 


THREE    OF    US.  393 

would  try  you,  for  he  has  an  uncommon  will,  even 
now.  If  he  decides  that  he  would  rather  not  be 
dressed  just  then  it's  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth 
to  get  through  the  performance.  You  thought  he 
had  a  pain  this  morning;  it  was  nothing  under 
the  sun  but  temper.  He  wanted  to  be  cuddled 
some  more  instead  of  being  dressed." 

"Aunt  Hannah!  And  he  isn't  a  month  old 
yet ! " 

"  Fact !  The  first  thing  to  wake  up'  and  go  at 
it  is  that  old  will ;  and  it  is  the  last  to  leave.  So 
I  say,  when  the  day  comes  that  he  puts  his  will 
straight  across  yours,  it  will  be  a  big  trial.  If 
you  succeed  in  keeping  calm  and  sweet  through  it 
all  you  will  have  attained  to  saintship.  Mind,  I 
don't  say  it  can't  be  done,  but  most  fathers  and 
mothers  are  like  Peter.  They  say  '  I  never  will,' 
and  then,  sometime,  when  they  have  been  in  a 
rage  with  their  own  children,  they  have  to  go  and 
weep  bitterly  when  the  Lord  casts  a  look  at  them 
to  bring  to  mind  their  promises.  I  think  the 
resolves  are  all  right,  and  I  like  to  hear  you  make 
them.  May  the  Lord  give  one  woman  grace  to 
keep  them,  and  I  believe  He  will.  Some  one 
said — I  don't  know  but  it  was  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  —  that  every  child  was  intended  to  see 
a  type  of  God  in  its  father  and  mother.  Some 
poor  children  won't  stand  much  chance  if  that  is 
so." 


394  THREE    OF    US. 

"  I  shall  have  to  have  ever  so  many  talks  with 
you  about  it  if  I  do  succeed,"  Mattie  said;  "but 
just  now  I  want  to  ask  you  concerning  something 
else.  I  did  not  tell  you  all  I  was  thinking.  Do 
you  know  of  any  trouble  in  the  church  ? " 

This  was  a  sudden  question  for  which  Aunt 
Hannah  was  unprepared.  She  and  John  had 
agreed  to  keep  his  dismissal  a  secret  until  his 
wife  should  have  recovered  entire  strength. 

"Why?  What  made  you  ask  that?"  she  said, 
while  she  gave  unnecessary  attention  to  her 
knitting. 

"  I  can  scarcely  tell  why ;  but  I  fancy  there  is 
an  atmosphere  of  constraint  about  the  few  who 
have  come  in  to  see  me.  Even  Elsie  Chilton 
does  not  act  naturally.  I  miss  little  kindnesses 
from  certain  ones,  and  John's  eyes  look  as  if  they 
were  guarding  a  secret.  Aunt  Hannah,  what  is 
it  ?  I  believe  there  is  something,  and  that  you 
know  it.  Tell  me,  please  do  !  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute,  while  Aunt 
Hannah  took  counsel  of  herself —  "It  is  certainly 
time  the  child  knew.  If  I  tell  her,  John  will  be 
spared  so  much." 

"There  isn't  much  use  in  trying  to  keep  any- 
thing from  such  a  sharp-eyed  body  as  you  are, 
that's  sure!"  she  said,  at  last.  "What  should 
you  say  if  John  were  not  to  stay  in  this  church 
much  longer?" 


THREE    OF    US.  395 

"Has  John  resigned,  Aunt  Hannah?" 

There  was  no  help  for  it  then,  but  to  begin  and 
tell  the  whole  story,  while  the  color  came  and 
went  in  the  sensitive  face  of  the  young  wife, 
and  her  eyes  were  by  turns,  wistful,  indignant, 
and  astonished. 

"If  only  they  had  not  asked  him  to  resign!" 
she  said,  after  a  little.  "  If  he  had  but  done  it  of 
his  own  accord." 

"Dear  child,  search  down  in  your  heart  and 
see  why  you  wish  that,"  said  Aunt  Hannah. 

"I  know;  I  need  not  wait  to  search.  It  is 
pride  at  work ;  but  I  suppose  it  is  good  for  us. 
Oh,  it  is  hard  for  John  to  bear.  He  has  worked  so 
faithfully  and  he  hoped  so  much  that  the  truth  was 
taking  effect."  And  she  wiped  away  some  tears. 

"Truth  hits  people  differently,  my  dear.  Some 
folks  repent  and  believe,  and  some  fly  up  and 
turn  away  the  minister  when  their  consciences  are 
pricked.  You  know,  of  course,  that  this  is  not  the 
work  of  the  whole  church.  Some  of  the  best  ones 
are  on  John's  side,  and  they  insisted  on  his 
staying." 

"What  reason  do  they  give  for  wishing  a 
change,  Aunt  Hannah  ?  " 

"Why,  they  say  they  have  decided  that  the 
needs  of  the  church  demand  a  man  of  more  age 
and  experience.  That  means  they  want  some  one 
who  is  experienced  enough  to  know  that  he  can't 


396  THREE    OF    US. 

stay  in  this  church  long,  unless  he  minds  his  p's 
and  q's.  He  must  not  preach  total  abstinence, 
because  some  of  the  members  have  money  in  a 
distillery.  He  must  be  dumb  about  the  snares 
and  temptations  of  the  world,  because  half  of  them 
dance,  and  play  cards,  and  go  to  the  theatre.  He 
must  not  speak  of  everlasting  punishment,  because 
Satan  has  persuaded  some  of  the  members  that 
such  language  is  all  figurative.  They  don't  want 
to  hear  about  sin,  either ;  or  any  unpleasantness. 
The  shepherd  of  this  flock  may  have  a  good  time 
if  he  will  preach  about  evolution,  and  poetry,  and 
philosophy,  and  turn  his  head  the  other  way  when 
he  sees  some  silly  sheep  breaking  through  the 
fence,  dancing  and  capering  off  into  forbidden 
paths ;  and  go  to  sleep  when  others  are  stumbling, 
and  tumbling  into  pits.  If  I  were  a  minister  I 
would  sooner  preach  to  wild  Hottentots  than  to 
such  a  church.  But  there !  I'm  getting  stirred 
up  myself.  The  Lord  has  a  people  among  them  ; 
it's  a  thousand  pities,  though,  that  the  other  sort 
ever  got  inside  the  fold.  If  they  were  counted  as 
enemies  of  Christ  there  might  be  some  chance 
of  reaching  them.  But  we  must  not  be  worrying 
about  John,  Martha ;  he  has  got  to  go  through 
these  things.  'The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his 
Lord.'  Let  us  rather  be  glad  that  he  has  been 
used  to  strike  some  blows  against  sin  in  this  place. 
Good  will  come  of  it,  you  may  depend." 


THREE    OF    US.  397 

"I  think  it  would  be  refreshing,"  the  young 
wife  said,  trying  to  smile  amid  her  tears,  "to 
work  among  Hottentots  for  a  time.  Some  of 
these  people  are  actually  hardened  by  preaching." 

Baby  started  just  then,  and  his  mother  knelt 
beside  him,  laying  her  cheek  to  the  tiny  soft  one. 
Nobody  could  be  thoroughly  miserable  with  a  new 
little  heart  fluttering  in  her  ear,  and  a  soft,  sweet 
breath,  sweeter  than  roses  or  hyacinths  or  new- 
mown  hay,  coming  and  going  in  her  face.  Pre- 
cious comforters  are  the  babies ! 


39^  INTUITIONS. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


INTUITIONS. 

MATTERS  made  rapid  progress  after  Aunt 
Hannah's  revelation.  That  good  woman 
was  much  troubled  for  a  time  lest  she  had  spoken 
"unadvisedly  with  her  lips";  but  it  proved  in 
the  end  to  have  been  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  been  done.  The  truth  is,  that  plain, 
straightforward  statements  are  often  less  wearing 
upon  heart  and  nerves,  than  poor  attempts  at 
concealment,  among  people  unused  to  conceal- 
ments from  each  other.  John  Remington  was 
not  by  nature  a  dissembler,  and  the  utmost  sym- 
pathy and  confidence  had  always  existed  between 
his  wife  and  himself.  It  was  new  and  harassing 
work  for  him  to  conceal  from  her  eyes  anything 
of  importance  which  she  naturally  would  know 
as  well  as  he.  She  had  been  quick  to  discover 


INTUITIONS.  399 

that  there  was  something  concealed,  and  not 
knowing  what  it  could  be,  had  brooded  over  it 
in  silence.  When  she  knew  the  whole  truth  she 
wasted  not  much  time  in  tears. 

"I've  put  my  foot  into  it  now,"  Aunt  Hannah 
said,  her  anxiety  making  her  voice  sound  grim. 
"I  had  to  tell  her." 

"  Had  to  tell  her  what  ? "  asked  the  minister, 
wheeling  around  on  her,  and  speaking  more 
sharply  than  he  ever  had  before. 

"All  there  is  to  tell;  I  had  to,  I  tell  you. 
There  was  no  getting  out  of  it  without  downright 
lying;  and  I'm  not  used  to  lying.  She  asked  me 
a  point-blank  question,  and  looked  straight  at  me 
with  eyes  that  refused  to  be  hoodwinked." 

"Well,"  said  the  minister,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  while  he  struggled  for  complete  self- 
control,  "  of  course  you  did  what  you  thought  was 
right ;  she  would  have  to  know  about  it  soon. 
I  could  wish  that  we  might  have  waited  until  she 
had  a  little  more  strength,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped." 

Nevertheless  he  shrank  from  going  to  his 
wife's  room,  and  allowed  various  trifles  to  detain 
him  later  than  usual,  until  at  last  Aunt  Hannah 
said  —  "Seems  to  me  I  wouldn't  keep  her  wait- 
ing longer  than  is  necessary,  seeing  she  has  not 
much  strength  to  waste." 

Then,  much  ashamed  of  himself,  he  went  up- 


4OO  INTUITIONS. 

stairs  with  haste.  His  wife  was  bending  over 
the  sleeping  baby,  folding  the  soft  blankets  more 
closely  about  its  small  form,  surreptitiously  tuck- 
ing a  bit  of  flannel  about  the  little  doubled-up 
fist,  which  already  asserted  its  determination  not 
to  be  muffled  or  restricted.  She  glanced  around 
as  her  husband  entered.  "John,"  she  said  softly, 
"see  how  resolved  he  is  not  to  have  his  hand 
anywhere  but  just  where  he  chooses  to  put  it." 

A  moment  the  two  stood,  looking  at  their 
treasure ;  then  the  young  mother  placed  both 
hands  on  her  husband's  arm  in  a  pretty,  clinging 
way  she  had,  and  said,  "John,  I  am  proud  of 
you." 

"  Proud  of  me,  dear ;  what  can  you  mean  ? " 
Despite  his  determination  at  self-control  there 
was  a  suspicious  quiver  in  the  minister's  voice. 
There  was  none  in  his  wife's ;  and  no  hint  of 
tears  in  the  eyes,  which  looked  steadily  into  his 
own. 

"Yes,  proud  of  you;  you  have  been  honored 
above  many.  I  always  thought  that  if  I  had  a 
husband  who  spoke  squarely  for  the  truth  of  God, 
so  as  to  move  people  to  a  better  life  if  they  would, 
but  in  any  case  oblige  them  to  listen  and  think, 
and  do  something,  I  should  be  proud  of  him ;  now 
I  know  I  am." 

He  had  not  expected  it ;  he  had  nerved  himself 
for  a  few  tears,  for  some  tremulous  questions  as 


INTUITIONS.  4OI 

to  what  they  were  to  do,  and  as  to  why  he 
thought  the  people  had  so  soon  changed  in  their 
feelings ;  these  clear-cut,  almost  triumphant,  sen- 
tences nearly  unnerved  him. 

Aunt  Hannah  fidgeted  much  that  morning  and 
sniffed  suspiciously  more  than  once,  as  she  aired 
and  folded  the  baby's  flannels  and  pretty  white 
robes,  fresh  from  the  laundry,  and  felt  such  a 
sense  of  relief,  as  she  would  not  like  to  have 
owned  to,  when  the  minister  and  his  wife  came 
down  to  dinner  together  in  a  very  comfortable 
state  of  mind. 

"You  are  a  wise  woman,  Aunt  Hannah,"  said 
her  nephew,  going  around  the  table  for  the  pur- 
pose of  placing  a  deliberate  kiss  on  her  faded 
cheek;  " a  very  wise  woman.  It  would  probably 
have  been  for  our  peace  of  mind,  if  you  had 
spoken  the  truth  two  weeks  ago.  I  was  a  nerv- 
ous coward  to  mislead  you ;  now  that  your  good 
sense  has  broken  through,  and  helped  us  out,  no 
one  can  thank  you  more  heartily  than  I,  and  next 
to  you,  in  wisdom,  is  my  wife  *  Martha ' ;  do  you 
know  that  ?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  John,"  Aunt  Hannah  said, 
briskly;  "and  you  a  father,  too!"  But  the  anx- 
ious lines  which  her  face  had  worn  smoothed  sud- 
denly, and  her  smile  was  pleasant  to  see. 

As  they  took  their  seats  at  the  table,  Aunt 
Hannah  assured  herself  for  perhaps  the  twentieth 


4O2  INTUITIONS. 

time  in  the  course  of  the  last  few  months,  that 
"Martha  was  certainly  a  remarkable  woman  ! " 

After  this,  as  I  said,  plans  and  preparations  for 
removal  from  the  Kensett  Square  locality  went 
on  steadily.  The  minister  had  already  interested 
himself  greatly  in  the  struggling  church  whose 
people  were  "hungering  for  the  gospel."  Certain 
letters  had  passed  between  them.  Those  from 
the  little  church  breathing  such  a  spirit  of  eager- 
ness and  hope,  that  John,  as  he  read  them  aloud  to 
his  wife,  paused  to  say,  "Does  it  not  seem  as 
though  such  people  ought  to  have  help,  even 
though  there  is  but  a  handful  of  them,  and  they 
so  poor  as  to  be  almost  discouraged  ? " 

"To  the  poor  the  gospel  is  preached,"  said 
Mattie,  musingly.  And  after  a  moment,  in  the 
same  tone — "The  common  people  heard  Him 
gladly.  I  am  not  sure,  John,  but  it  would  be 
a  great  comfort  to  be  among  such  a  people." 

But  Aunt  Hannah  was  silent  and  somewhat 
grim  whenever  the  little  church  was  mentioned.  ' 

"Time  enough  for  plans  of  that  sort  after  you 
have  had  a  long  rest,"  she  said,  decidedly,  one 
day  when,  being  directly  appealed  to,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  say  something.  "I  don't  want  to  hear 
about  that  church  or  any  other  until  your  play- 
time is  over.  John  has  overworked  in  this 
church,  to  say  nothing  of  you,  Martha,  who  will 
always  overwork  everywhere,  I'm  afraid ;  and  it 


INTUITIONS.  4O3 

won't  do.  Remember  you  have  another  one  to 
think  about  now,  you  have  got  to  save  up  a  good 
deal  of  strength  and  energy  for  him ;  he'll  need  it 
all.  He  is  going  to  be  a  masterful  boy,  mark  my 
word !  I  can  see  it  in  the  way  he  sucks  his 
thumb  and  gazes  about  him  as  though  he  owned 
all  creation.  You  are  going  to  the  farm  for  the 
summer,  remember  that.  And  then  it  stands  to 
reason  that  Martha  will  need  to  go  home  for  a 
while,  and  show  her  baby,  and  you  will  go  with 
her,  of  course.  I  won't  be  unreasonable  if  I  can 
help  it,  but  don't  talk  about  churches." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  John  to  his  wife,  with 
much  decision  in  his  voice,  "I  do  not  mean  to 
waste  this  summer;  I  must  be  about  my  Father's 
business.  We  will  go  home  with  Aunt  Hannah, 
and  you  shall  see  that  blessed  father  and  mother, 
my  darling;  yes,  we  will  both  plan  for  that,  if 
possible,  but  I  must  make  my  vacation  short ;  I 
am  not  to  be  an  idler  because  I  chose  the  wrong 
"field  for  work.  For  a  few  weeks  it  seemed  to  me 
as  though  I  might  have  mistaken  my  vocation 
entirely,  but  since  you  have  grasped  the  situation 
and  received  the  news  in  the  way  you  have,  it 
seems  to  have  put  new  life  into  me ;  I  long  to  be 
at  work."  And  he  smiled  at  her  in  a  way  calcu- 
lated to  put  fresh  courage  into  a  wife's  heart. 

There  came,  also,  a  letter  which  helped.  Mrs. 
Remington  opened  it  with  fingers  that  trembled ; 


404  INTUITIONS. 

she  held  her  father  in  very  high  esteem,  and  this 
was  the  first  letter  since  the  news  went  to  him. 
He  was  a  busy  man,  with  little  time  for  writing ; 
his  epistles  were  always  short,  and  to  the  point. 
If  he  should  not  understand  John,  or  should  think 
it  strange  that  he  had  so  soon  broken  his  relations 
with  the  important  city  church,  why,  that  would 
be  very  hard  to  bear !  This  letter  was  short, 
shorter  even  than  usual ;  she  could  not  determine 
whether  that  augured  well  or  ill,  the  only  way  was 
to  read  it.  But  her  father  was  capable  of  being 
very  sarcastic.  She  looked  over  at  her  sleeping 
baby  to  steady  her  heart,  then  read  the  letter  : 

DEAR  DAUGHTER: 

I  do  not  know  how  you  look  at  the  matter,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  congratulations  are  in  order.  When  I  heard  the  news  of 
your  call  to  Kensett  Square  church  I  said  to  your  mother,  "  One 
of  three  things  will  happen  —  either  there  will  be  a  radical  change 
in  the  position  which  that  church  takes  on  most  questions  now 
before  us  for  discussion,  or  there  will  be  a  new  pastor  soon,  or 
we  shall  know  that  we  have  been  mistaken  in  our  daughter's  hus- 
band." I  have  looked  in  vain  for  the  "  radical  change  " ;  indeed, 
the  church,  if  I  may  judge  by  what  I  know  of  a  few  brilliant 
examples,  never  stood  on  a  lower  plane  than  at  this  moment; 
and  I  confess  I  have  been  awaiting  somewhat  anxiously  the  next 
step.  Because  it  is  as  it  is,  I  draw  a  long  breath  of  relief.  Do 
not  wax  indignant,  because  I  did  not  know  what  the  next  step 
would  be;  we  thought  we  were  sure  of  John,  but  people  are 
sometimes  deceived.  Tell  him  for  me,  that  the  world,  and  what 
is  more  important,  the  Lord,  has  need  of  men  like  him." 

There  followed  a  few  sentences  more  ;  messages 
to  the  "royal  new  comer,"  a  word  of  comfort 


INTUITIONS.  405 

over  the  thought  that  they  would  soon  welcome 
father,  mother  and  son  to  the  homestead  ;  but  Mat- 
tie  made  haste  over  these  —  they  were  matters-of- 
course.  There  was  a  pretty  glow  on  her  cheek 
as  she  took  her  way  to  the  study  with  the 
letter.  Such  words  from  "father,"  John  would 
prize. 

So  there  were  bright  spots,  even  among  the  dis- 
comforts and  embarrassments  of  the  breaking-up. 

Meantime,  Elsie  Chilton  had  been  bearing  her 
own  burdens  as  best  she  could.  Certain  unex- 
pected allies  had  come  to  her  aid.  In  the  first 
place,  Aleck  Palmer  made  another  sudden  depart- 
ure ;  this  time  being  honestly  called  away  by 
business  so  imperative  that  it  would  brook  no 
delay,  though  it  came  to  him  at  a  time  when 
absence  chafed  him  almost  more  than  he  could 
endure.  In  the  second  place,  Elsie  fell  ill ;  not 
dangerously  so,  but  ill  enough  to  require  care  and 
judicious  management,  and  to  materially  soften 
her  father's  feelings  toward  her ;  at  least,  to  the 
extent  that  he  asked  no  questions  and  permitted 
none  to  be  asked  her  with  regard  to  the  letter 
which  he  had  ordered  written ;  assuring  himself 
that,  after  all,  the  young  people  were  probably 
capable  of  taking  care  of  their  own  affairs,  and 
resolving  to  judiciously  forget  all  commands  which 
he  had  given,  unless  circumstances  should  make 
it  necessary  for  him  to  remember  them  again. 


406  INTUITIONS. 

As  soon  as  Elsie  was  able  to  leave  her  room, 
while  the  much-tried  Aleck  was  still  chafing  over 
his  absence  from  the  city,  she  took  a  sudden 
departure  to  the  country;  ostensibly  to  make  a 
long-promised  visit  to  an  aunt  of  her  father's, 
really  because  she  found  herself  not  strong  enough 
to  visit  at  the  parsonage  and  keep  face  and  voice 
under  the  control  necessary  to  deceive  Mrs.  Rem- 
ington into  the  belief  that  all  was  as  it  should  be 
in  Kensett  Square.  While  with  her  aunt  she  did 
write  the  letter ;  not,  indeed,  such  an  one  as  her 
father  had  ordered,  but  a  kind,  grave,  womanly 
letter,  to  Aleck  Palmer,  in  which  she  gently  but 
distinctly,  and  with  solemn  reasons  for  her  con- 
duct given,  severed  forever  her  relations  with 
him.  Much  tried  would  she  have  been,  had  she 
known  that  through  some  freak  of  the  mails,  aided 
by  the  gentleman's  hurried  transit  from  one  busi- 
ness point  to  another,  he  failed  to  receive  her 
carefully-worded  letter. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  her  return  home 
that  Aunt  Hannah  arrested  her  steps  in  the  hall, 
just  after  the  little  maid  had  given  her  permission 
to  go  to  the  up-stairs  sitting-room,  where  the  fam- 
ily, baby  and  all,  were  gathered. 

"Wait  a  minute,  child.  I  want  to  see  you 
before  you  go  up-stairs.  You  will  be  as  wise  as  a 
serpent,  won't  you,  dear,  when  you  get  up  there  ? 
She  isn't  as  strong  as  she  might  be,  even  yet,  you 


INTUITIONS.  407 

know,  and  going  over  things  will  just  excite  you 
both,  and  do  no  good." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Elsie,  humbly.  "But  oh, 
Aunt  Hannah,  does  she  know  the  whole  story 
now?*' 

"Oh,  yes;  she  does  —  all  her  husband  can  tell 
her,  I  guess.  There  are  no  secrets  between  them 
any  more,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  I  told  her 
myself  —  had  to,  a  week  before  he  was  willing. 
She  was  worrying  herself  over  something  wrong, 
and  working  upon  her  nerves  more  than  a  week 
of  knowing  all  about  it  would.  All  the  same  I 
blundered  into  it  —  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  only 
she  sees  through  things  so,  you  have  to  tell  her." 

Elsie  turned  and  descended  the  two  or  three 
steps  she  had  taken  up  the  stairs,  and  came  close 
to  Aunt  Hannah,  her  face  pale,  save  for  a  little 
spot  of  red  which  seemed  to  burn  on  either 
cheek.  "Aunt  Hannah,  will  you  tell  me  some- 
thing?" she  said;  "I  have  not  been  able  to  learn. 
There  was  no  one  whom  I  was  willing  to  ask. 
That  paper,  you  know,  or  letter — it  was  a  letter, 
was  it  not  ? " 

"The  resignation  which  they  sent  him  in,  you 
mean,  I  suppose?"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  calmly; 
"call  things  by  their  right  names,  child.  To  be 
sure,  ministers  are  generally  supposed  to  send  in 
their  own  resignations,  but  they  reversed  the 
usual  order." 


4O8  INTUITIONS. 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  it;  I  want  to  know  just 
two  things.  Is  my  father's  name  on  that  paper?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  gravely; 
"it  pretty  nearly  heads  the  list." 

The  pink  on  Elsie's  face  spread  and  deepened. 
"Aunt  Hannah,  one  question  more  —  is  Mr.  Palm- 
er's name  on  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed  it  is.  That  does  actually  head  the 
precious  list." 

The  face  which  had  been  crimson  but  a  mo- 
ment before,  had  grown  so  pale  that  Aunt  Han- 
nah's heart  smote  her  with  pity.  She  tried  to 
think  of  something  comforting  to  say,  but  Elsie 
did  not  give  her  time. 

"Aunt  Hannah,"  she  said,  struggling  to  speak 
quietly,  "there  are  things  which  daughters  cannot 
help ;  over  which  they  have  no  control.  I  sus- 
pected some  things,  but  I  did  not  know — I  mean 
I  did  not  believe  "  - 

She  stopped  abruptly,  and  Aunt  Hannah  made 
haste  to  speak. 

"Don't  you  worry,  child;  of  course  you  could 
not  help  any  of  it ;  and  there  is  nobody  who 
understands  that  better  than  those  two  up-stairs. 
Don't  worry  about  them,  either;  they  aren't  cast 
down  —  not  a  mite.  When  a  man  goes  into  the 
Lord's  work,  he  counts  the  cost  generally,  and  he 
doesn't  go  to  breaking  his  heart,  or  giving  up  the 
world  for  lost,  because  a  few  men  in  it  cannot 


INTUITIONS.  409 

stand  his  Master's  message.  What  does  the 
whole  of  it  amount  to,  compared  with  what  the 
Lord  had  to  bear?  Don't  go  to  shouldering  more 
burdens  than  is  necessary,  child ;  go  up  and  see 
the  baby  and  be  comforted.  He  has  his  father's 
eyes;  I  always  knew  he  would  have." 

But  Elsie  moved,  instead,  toward  the  door. 
"No,  Aunt  Hannah,  I  am  not  going  up  now;  I 
am  going  home.  I  want  to  think.  I  have  not 
known,  to  a  certainty,  anything.  I  knew  my 
father  was  annoyed  and  vexed,  and  had  been  led 
unwisely ;  but  I  did  not  know  how  far  he  had 
gone.  I  will  come  again,  to-morrow,  perhaps,  or 
very  soon.  I  want  you  to  tell  Mrs.  Remington 
for  me  that  I  love  her  dearly  —  dearly,  and  that  I 
will  not  in  any  way  disappoint  her  if  I  can  help 
it." 

"Of  course  you  won't,  dear  child,"  and  Aunt 
Hannah's  chin  quivered.  "She  doesn't  expect 
disappointment  where  you  are  concerned ;  I  can 
tell  you  that.  There's  another  one  whom  you 
won't  disappoint,  I  know ;  and  that's  your  mother. 
I  can  hardly  understand  how  she  could  be  happy, 
even  in  heaven,  if  she  could  look  down  and  see 
her  baby  walking  in  the  road  she  didn't  want  her 
to  take.  I  held  you  in  my  arms  when  she  kissed 
you  good-by ;  I  saw  the  look  in  her  eyes,  and  I 
know  all  about  it." 

Aunt  Hannah  had  gained  her  point ;  the  drawn 


4iO  INTUITIONS. 

lines  on  the  young  face  were  relaxing,  and  the 
eyes  were  dimming  with  tears.  " Thank  you," 
she  said,  gently;  "I  will  not  forget.  I  am  not 
going  to  disappoint  my  mother,  nor  my  mother's 
Saviour.  I  have  been  walking  a  road  that  was 
full  of  temptation ;  I  am  going  to  get  out  of  it. 
Kiss  me  for  my  mother,  Aunt  Hannah."  Where- 
upon the  strong  old  arms  closed  about  the  fair 
form,  and  some  very  tender  kisses  were  left  by 
the  withered  lips  on  those  fresh  young  ones. 

"It  was  Elsie,"  Aunt  Hannah  said,  half  an 
hour  afterward,  in  answer  to  Mattie's  inquiring 
look.  They  were  in  the  little  reception-room  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  —  father,  mother  and  Earle 
Mason  —  holding  court  around  the  new  baby. 

"  Elsie ! "  repeated  the  mother  in  surprise  and 
dismay;  "has  she  returned?  And  she  didn't 
come  up  to  see  the  baby  !  " 

"  She  couldn't,  Martha,  not  this  time ;  she  was 
all  upset.  She  has  just  discovered  some  names 
on  that  paper  which  was  sent  to  John  that  sur- 
prise her  more  than  they  do  any  one  else.  It  is 
amazing  to  me  how  girls  can  be  so  blind !  She 
left  her  love,  and  is  coming  again  soon." 

Mrs.  Remington's  face  looked  troubled,  and  she 
drew  a  heavy  sigh  as  she  said  — "  Poor  Elsie ! 
there  are  hard  lines  coming  into  her  life.  I  trem- 
ble for  her.  It  seems  almost  too  hard  that  we 
should  have  to  leave  her  just  now.  Still,  if  she  is 


INTUITIONS.  411 

to  become  that  man's  wife  there  is  very  little  that 
we  could  do  for  her." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  her,"  said  Aunt  Han- 
nah, in  her  most  assured  tone;  "the  Lord  can  take 
care  of  His  own,  especially  His  lambs,  and  she's 
one  of  them.  I  don't  believe  she  will  ever  marry 
that  man  in  this  world ;  and  she  certainly  won't 
in  the  next." 

If  she  had  not  almost  immediately  occupied  her- 
self with  the  baby,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else,  she  might  have  been  bewildered  over  the 
sudden  flash  of  feeling  on  Earle  Mason's  face,  and 
the  quick  look  he  gave  her.  Did  it  express  grati- 
tude ?  If  so,  for  what  ? 

"  The  Lord  can  certainly  bring  good  out  of  evil, 
as  Mrs.  Adams  says,"  he  remarked,  in  an  almost 
cheerful  tone ;  "  He  has  shown  us  that  phase  of 
His  love  often  enough  to  lead  us  to  trust  Him. 
She  is  a  very  wise  woman,"  he  added,  as  Aunt 
Hannah  gathered  the  baby,  blankets  pillows,  and 
all,  and  unceremoniously  left  the  room,  by  way  of 
the  nursery.  "A  very  wise  woman.  I  would 
trust  her  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  her 
intuitions,  where  I  would  not  my  own."  He  was 
still  speaking  quite  cheerfully ;  apparently,  for 
some  reason,  he  was  very  glad  to  trust  to  Aunt 
Hannah's  intuitions. 


412  J.    S.    R. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


BY     PANSY. 


"J.     S.     R." 

IT  was  surprising  how  little  time  it  took,  after 
all,  to  dismantle  the  pretty  home  in  Kensett 
Square,  and  make  it  look  utterly  unhomelike ! 

Oh,  there  was  no  indecorous  haste.  Indeed, 
everything  was  done  with  the  utmost  order,  and 
with  a  view  to  all  the  proprieties.  There  was  a 
farewell  gathering  in  the  church  parlors,  where 
many  wept  honest  tears  of  regret,  and  some  made 
dishonest  speeches  of  regret. 

There  was  presented  a  very  elegant  silver  din- 
ner service,  the  largest  donors  on  the  list  of 
names  presented  with  it  being  those  from  whom 
it  was  very  hard  to  receive  gifts ;  and  but  for 
the  grace  of  Jesus  Christ  bestowed  in  unusual 
measure  for  the  needs  of  this  very  hour,  the 
offerings  would  certainly  have  been  declined. 


J.    S.    R.  413 

As  it  was,  the  minister's  voice  was  kind  and 
calm  as  he  expressed  their  united  thanks  to  all 
who  intended  kindness.  The  minister's  wife's 
eyes  flashed  suspiciously  during  this  ceremony; 
but  when,  ten  minutes  afterward,  the  widow 
Porter  brought,  done  up  in  a  bit  of  newspaper, 
a  pair  of  rather  coarse  and  rather  ill-shaped 
baby's  socks  which  her  own  hands  had  fashioned 
after  the  hard  day's  work  was  done,  those  same 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  the  widow  Porter's 
thanks  were  such  as  she  will  remember. 

Of  course  this  episode  was  not  allowed  to 
close  without  a  carefully  prepared  paper  com- 
mencing with  — 

"  Whereas,  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  so 
order  that  it  is  expedient  for  our  beloved  pastor, 
the  Reverend  John  Remington,  to  remove  to 
another  field  of  labor,  be  it  resolved  that"  — 

And  then  followed  the  long  list  of  carefully- 
planned,  gracefully-worded  resolutions.  Aleck 
Palmer  had  returned  just  in  time  to  give  his 
skillful  mind  to  the  work  of  formulating  them, 
and  had  spent  much  thought  and  care  upon  them, 
writing  and  re-writing  until  he  was  more  than 
weary  of  them  all. 

He  was  making  what  was,  for  him,  an  unusual 
effort  to  please  —  not  his  pastor,  nor  yet  the 
Kensett  Square  congregation,  but  Elsie  Chilton. 
He  had  pushed  the  matter  with  relentless  hand 


414  J-  s.  R. 

to  a  successful  issue,  and  had  now  time  to  feel 
a  degree  of  sorrow  for  Elsie's  evident  suffering. 
There  had  actually  been  times  when  he  told  him- 
self that  had  he  realized  how  entirely  she  was 
bound  up  in  the  Remington  household,  he  would 
not  have  been  so  precipitate.  Of  course  he 
knew  this  to  be  false,  because  it  was  what  he 
called  her  "infatuation"  over  them  which  had 
hurried  him  on. 

He  was  altogether  complacent  over  the  result 
of  his  skill,  and  could  afford  to  indulge  himself 
in  an  imaginary  regret  that  such  effort  had  been 
necessary ;  or  at  least,  that  it  had  been  necessary 
for  him  to  play  so  prominent  a  part. 

Truth  to  tell,  this  phase  of  the  situation  troub- 
led him  not  a  little.  For  instance,  he  had  been 
exceedingly  annoyed  that  his  name  had  had  to 
appear  on  that  obnoxious  paper,  even  obliged  to 
head  the  list.  Given  the  possibility  of  Elsie's 
ever  knowing  it,  and  he  did  not  like  to  think  of 
what  might  result.  But  he  reflected  that  it  was 
not  in  the  least  probable  she  would  ever  know  it. 
The  actual  signers  were  pledged  to  stand  by  one 
another  and  keep  their  own  council ;  and  the 
Remingtons  would  certainly  not  be  likely  to  show 
the  paper,  or  talk  about  it !  He  left  out  of  con- 
sideration the  fact  that  Aunt  Hannah,  having  had 
long  experience  in  truth-telling,  knew  how  to 
answer  only  the  truth  to  directly  put  questions. 


J.    S.    R.  415 

In  fact,  he  left  Aunt  Hannah  out  of  the  question 
entirely,  as  an  old  woman  who  was  quite  beneath 
his  consideration.  But  he  had  his  anxious  hours, 
nevertheless.  Twice,  during  that  enforced  ab- 
sence he  had  written  Elsie  hurried  little  notes, 
expressive  of  his  extreme  regret  that  he  must  be 
away  at  such  a  time,  and  assuring  her  that  certain 
rumors  which  he  heard  relative  to  the  state  of 
things  in  the  Kensett  Square  church,  while  they 
did  not  surprise  him,  were  matters  for  sincere 
regret ;  especially  on  her  account.  He  trusted 
that  nothing  unkind  had  been  done;  and  that 
nobody  with  a  zeal  not  according  to  knowledge 
had  said  or  done  anything  to  bring  the  pastor  to  so 
sudden  a  departure.  For  himself,  while  he  could 
wish  that  he  was  present  to  comfort  her,  he  could 
not  but,  at  the  same  time,  be  glad  that  his  contin- 
ued absence  would  furnish  her  proof,  if  indeed  she 
needed  proof,  that  certainly  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  peculiar  state  of  things.  The  only  answer 
which  Elsie  had  returned  to  these  notes  had  been 
that  long,  carefully-worded  one  of  which  I  told 
you,  and  which,  you  will  remember,  he  did  not 
receive.  Her  silence  troubled  him  somewhat, 
until  Mrs.  Chilton  wrote  of  her  illness  and  then  of 
her  sudden  departure  to  the  country.  "The  poor 
child,"  wrote  Mrs.  Chilton,  "is  utterly  worn  out 
in  body  and  mind,  worrying  over  the  prospective 
departure  of  her  friends ;  it  is  really  extraordinary 


416  j.  s.  R. 

what  a  hold  they  have  gotten  upon  her  affections. 
I  know  somebody  who  will  have  to  be  very  patient 
and  very  cautious  for  a  little  time ;  her  nervous 
system  is  so  overwrought  by  all  these  matters 
that  if  you  go  to  being  exacting,  and,  well  — 
almost  jealous,  you  know,  I  shall  not  answer  for 
the  consequences." 

And  Mr.  Palmer,  who  had  been  absent  from 
Eisie  long  enough  to  begin  to  realize  something 
of  what  she  really  was  to  him,  had  resolved  to  be 
very  patient  indeed,  and  very  magnanimous.  He 
would  say  nothing  to  Elsie  when  they  met,  about 
this  recent  and  trying  past.  He  would  not  even 
refer  to  that  last  vexation  when  she  actually  went 
away  to  attend  a  dying  child,  though  he  had  been 
absent  for  two  weeks  and  had  engaged  to  be  with 
her  early  in  the  evening;  neither  would  he  say 
anything  about  her  having  gone  with  Mr.  Mason 
on  this  errand.  Truth  to  tell,  when  he  thought 
of  Elsie  and  of  the  look  which  certain  things  had 
the  power  to  bring  into  her  eyes,  he  decided  that 
to  be  silent  on  that  subject  was  simply  common 
prudence. 

He  returned,  as  I  said,  but  the  day  before  the 
public  meeting  in  which  the  series  of  resolutions 
were  presented.  He  devoted  all  his  time  to  the 
preparation  of  them,  and  was  conspicuous  on  that 
public  occasion,  as  Mr.  Remington's  friend  and 
earnest  well-wisher.  It  was  a  trial  to  him  that 


J.     S.    R.  417 

Elsie  did  not  appear.  He  resolved  not  to  see  her 
until  after  the  train  had  departed  which  would 
bear  away  her  friends,  and  then  to  go  to  her  in  all 
tenderness,  and  be  the  one  to  soothe  her  first 
hours  of  loneliness  and  grief.  He  would  make 
himself  as  necessary  to  her  hours  of  sorrow  as  he 
had  been  heretofore  to  her  hours  of  pleasure. 
Then,  when  the  time  came  to  speak  of  that,  he 
would  hasten  their  marriage  with  all  speed. 
Business  should  call  him  abroad  in  a  few  months ; 
in  fact,  he  would  make  it  imperatively  demand  his 
presence ;  and  that  should  be  his  plea  for  hasten- 
ing their  plans.  Elsie  had  always  wanted  to 
travel  in  Italy ;  she  should  now  have  the  oppor- 
tunity. It  was,  under  the  circumstances,  the  best 
possible  thing  to  do ;  he  would  hasten  her  away 
from  all  present  interests  foreign  to  his  taste,  all 
hateful  sights  and  sounds  which  were  stirring  her 
blood  to  unhealthful  throbbings.  She  should  go 
where  she  would  not  hear  of  saloons,  nor  tene- 
ment houses,  nor  drunken,  cruel  fathers,  nor  man* 
aging,  aspiring  women,  nor  fanatical  young  men. 

She  should  go  where  there  would  be  only 
graceful  lakes,  and  fairylike  boats  in  which  to 
float  down  them,  and  lovely  valleys  in  which  to 
dream,  and  gorgeous  sunsets  on  which  to  gaze, 
and  flowers,  and  grace,  and  sweet  leisure,  and  per- 
fumed air. 

It  was   such   a   life   for   which   she   was    fitted. 


4i 8  j.  s.  R. 

He  had  rescued  her  from  a  fanaticism  which 
would  become  terrible  to  her,  when  once  she  was 
fairly  rid  of  the  fevered  air  of  reform,  which  she 
had  been  breathing  for  the  past  few  months.  So 
he  rounded  his  periods  carefully,  and  omitted  no 
word  or  act  calculated  to  show  outward  respect  to 
the  departing  pastor ;  even  keeping  his  carriage 
waiting,  with  many  others,  on  that  last  morning 
at  the  depot.  And  Elsie,  when  she  heard  of  it 
all,  had  said  only  this,  under  her  breath  —  "False 
to  the  last ;  in  little  and  unnecessary  things,  as 
well  as  in  those  necessary  to  carry  out  his 
schemes ! " 

The  note  which  she  received  that  evening 
was  as  carefully  worded  as  the  resolutions  had 
been. 

He  knew  she  must  be  worn  and  sad,  but 
might  he  not  come?  He  would  not  detain  her 
late,  for  he  was  sure  she  needed  rest ;  but  it  had 
been  so  long  since  he  had  seen  her !  He  ignored 
utterly  the  possibility  that  there  might  be  such  a 
thing  as  a  coldness  between  them  ;  in  fact,  he  did 
not  honestly  believe  that  there  was  any  coldness 
which  a  half-hour  of  his  inimitable  petting  would 
not  remove.  For  he  could  be  very  tender  and 
gracious,  this  man,  when  he  chose ;  none  knew 
this  better  than  Elsie.  Yet  her  face  had  paled  in 
indignation  over  his  note.  Ever  since  that  first 
day  of  her  return,  when  Aunt  Hannah  had  sud- 


J.    S.    R.  419 

denly  and  unwittingly  revealed  to  her  something 
of  the  true  character  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
been  engaged,  she  had  felt  herself  humiliated  in 
having  ever  been  in  such  relations  to  him.  Up  to 
that  hour,  having  settled  her  own  part  with  her 
conscience,  once  for  all,  she  had  had  time  to 
be  sorry  for  him.  As  she  walked  swiftly  away 
from  Aunt  Hannah's  keen  eyes,  she  said,  almost 
aloud — "He  is  actually  a  liar!  I  am  disgraced 
in  my  own  eyes  by  having  my  name  coupled  with 
such  as  he  !  " 

She  replied  to  his  note  with  such  promptness 
that  he  smiled,  well  pleased,  when  the  messenger 
came;  then  held  the  sheet  up  before  his  aston- 
ished eyes  and  read  and  re-read,  seemingly  unable 
to  believe  his  senses. 

Yet  the  note  was  not  long ;  it  was  only  this : 

MR.  PALMER  : 

Sir:  —  Your  note  received  just  now  amazes  me.  You  must 
surely  have  received  the  long  letter  in  which  I  explained  in  detail 
why  we  must  be  only  friends  hereafter.  I  am  sorry  that  you  did 
not  understand  it.  I  am  sorry  that  you  force  me  to  be  entirely 
frank.  I  wish  now  to  say  that  I  decline  from  this  time  forth  to 
acknowledge  you  as  among  my  list  of  acquaintances.  I  have 
ceased  to  respect  you.  I  have  found  that  you  can  be  untrue,  on 
occasion,  to  even  your  written  word.  I  need  not  particularize, 
for  you  at  least,  know  the  facts;  yet  to  relieve  your  mind  from 
any  doubt  in  the  matter  I  will  simply  say,  that  I  have  seen  the 
letter  which  was  sent  to  my  pastor,  I  have  read  carefully  the  list 
of  names,  and  noted  what  one  headed  that  list.  With  this  fact 
in  mind,  recall  the  lines  which  you  wrote  me  in  regard  to  this 


420  J.    S.    R. 

very  letter.  Why  was  there  need  to  soil  the  page  written  to  me 
with  deliberate  falsehood?  What  did  you  hope  to  accomplish 
by  it  ?  After  this,  I  need  only  sign  myself, 

ELSIE  CHILTON. 

You  will  doubtless  agree  with  me  that  this  was 
a  somewhat  startling  letter  for  a  man  to  receive 
from  a  lady  whom  he  confidently  expected  to  take 
to  Europe  as  his  bride,  in  less  than  two  months 
from  that  date ! 

I  am  tempted  to  let  you  hear  a  few  sentences 
of  a  conversation  which  took  place  in  the  Chilton 
household  a  few  hours  thereafter. 

"No  child  of  mine  shall  play  hide  and  seek 
with  a  gentleman  in  this  ridiculous  way,  I  can 
assure  you.  I  command  you  to  write,  as  your 
mother  has  suggested,  and  invite  Aleck  Palmer  to 
dine  with  us  to-night,  and  then  to  receive  him  as 
you  know  you  ought,  in  view  of  the  relations 
between  you ;  we  will  have  no  more  of  these  dis- 
graceful scenes.  Do  you  fully  understand  me?" 

This  from  Robert  Chilton,  in  a  great  rage. 

Then  Elsie,  quiet,  pale,  grave  — 

"Father"  —  she  used  the  name  but  rarely;  it 
was  generally  the  more  familiar,  more  childish 
"papa"  —  " Father,  had  you  given  me  the  oppor- 
tunity when  I  asked,  the  other  day,  you  would 
have  better  understood  the  relations  between  Mr. 
Palmer  and  myself.  I  will  write  a  note  for 
mamma,  inviting  any  person  to  dine  with  her 


J.    S.    R.  421 

whom  she  wishes  to  entertain,  signing  her  name  to 
the  note ;  but  Mr.  Palmer  is,  and  can  be  no  guest 
of  mine.  I  will  certainly  meet  him  if  you  desire, 
in  a  way  befitting  the  relation  between  us,  which 
is  that  of  strangers.  I  neither  like,  nor  admire, 
nor  respect  Mr.  Palmer.  He  can  never  be  reck- 
oned among  my  friends  again.  He  perfectly 
understands  this ;  I  have  been  entirely  frank  with 
him,  and  if  he  chooses  to  ignore  my  words  as  he 
has  so  frequently  done  before,  when  occasion 
offered,  he  must  be  prepared  to  endure  the  embar- 
rassment which  will  certainly  follow.  Father,  I 
am  not  a  child.  I  am  your  daughter,  it  is  true, 
and  in  all  things  right  I  will  obey  you.  But  the 
days  have  surely  gone  by  when  a  father  forces  his 
daughter  to  marry  a  man  who  has  deceived  her, 
and  whom  she  despises.  I  do  not  suppose  it  is 
necessary  to  say  this  to  you,  but  perhaps  I  should 
tell  you  frankly  that  if  I  knew  I  should  be  sent  out 
from  my  father's  house  to-night  never  to  return, 
unless  I  obeyed  your  wishes  in  this  respect,  I 
should  have  to  go ;  because  to  do  otherwise  would 
be  to  go  contrary  to  the  plain  directions  of  my 
Father  in  heaven,  whom  you,  sir,  have  taught  me 
from  a  child  to  obey." 

And  then  Elsie  Chilton  went  away  to  her  own 
room. 

"She  is   a  born  idiot!"  sai.d   her  step-mother, 
with    paling   lips.       "This    accounts    for    Aleck's 


422  J.    S.    fc. 

wild  letter  which  he  sent  me ;  but  even  yet  I  may 
be  able  to  patch  it  up,  if  you  will  help  me.  Those 
Remingtons  are  gone ;  that  is  a  great  step  in 
advance ;  and  there  is  no  other  fanatic  here  to 
influence  her." 

Was  there  not  ?  Even  at  that  moment  there 
waited  for  her  in  the  parlor  a  very  great  "fanatic" 
indeed ;  no  other  than  Fern  Redpath,  to  whom 
Elsie  presently  came,  holding  her  excitement  in 
check  to  hear  from  this  friend  the  truth  about 
something  else  which  had  also  excited  her. 

"Oh,  Fern,  is  what  I  have  heard  true?  Are 
you  really  going  to  speak  in  the  opera  house?" 

"  I  am,  indeed.  I  am  going  to  do  what  I  said 
I  never  would  —  go  on  the  platform  in  my  own 
city,  and  speak  to  the  people.  I  have  within  the 
last  few  weeks  been  so  roused,  so  fairly  burned 
through  and  through  with  the  enormity  of  this 
thing,  this  evil  in  our  midst,  that  it  seems  to  me 
as  though  the  very  stones  would  cry  out  if  women 
held  their  peace  much  longer.  I  am  not  going  to 
make  a  speech ;  I  am  going  to  tell  them  a  story ; 
a  story  of  facts ;  things  which  are  occurring  under 
their  very  eyes,  in  which  their  own  sons  and 
daughters  are  engaged.  It  is  a  terrible  story, 
Elsie ;  you  do  not  know  the  half  nor  the  quarter  of 
.it.  You  do  not  know,  for  instance,  that  my  poor 
boy  Jack,  for  whom  I  have  been  working  and  pray- 
ing, was  drugged  last  night,  and  lies  in  a  state  of 


J.    S.    R.  423 

beastly  intoxication  to-day ;  and  his  mother  dying, 
and  calling  for  him.  Will  not  that  be  a  story  for 
the  opera  house  listeners  to  hear?" 

"Fern,  tell  me,  why  did  you  go  to  the  opera 
house  ?  Would  not  a  church,  the  lecture-room  of 
a  church,  have  served  your  purpose  better?" 

"We  thought  of  that  at  first,  and  tried  for  it; 
but  no  lecture-room  large  enough  could  be  secured. 
The  Kensett  Square  church  will  not  open  its 
lecture-room  to  a  temperance  story  told  by  a 
woman ;  even  though  the  story  be  vouched  for  as 
true.  Nothing  less  than  a  cantata,  or  an  ope- 
retta can  be  admitted  there.  Think  of  it,  Elsie, 
the  folly  of  it  all !  Last  week  an  operetta,  with 
ladies  dressed  like  fairies,  and  goblins,  and  I  don't 
know  what  —  certainly  not  like  human  beings,  and 
a  delighted  crowd  to  listen  to  their  songs  and  reci- 
tations, and  see  their  dancing ;  but  because  I  want 
to  appear  in  a  plain  black  dress  made  close  to  the 
throat,  and  close  to  the  wrists,  and  tell  that  same 
company  about  the  things  which  are  taking  place 
around  the  corner  from  their  own  homes,  things 
which  have  to  do  with  the  future  of  immortal 
souls,  it  becomes  unwomanly!  Oh,  Elsie,  will 
you  do  something  for  me  ?  I  do  so  long  to  have 
you  stand  by  me  now." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  You  know  I  would  do  if 
I  could.  But,  Fern,  I  am  not  like  you;  I  cannot 
speak  before  a  dozen  people,  ever,  about  anything." 


424  J.  s.  R. 

"  No,  you  cannot  speak ;  at  least,  you  think  you 
cannot,  and  it  may  be  you  have  not  been  called 
to  do  so ;  but  I  think  I  have  been.  I  am  going 
to  tell  my  story  to-night  as  simply  as  I  can.  And 
I  want  a  woman  with  me  —  a  woman  to  pray. 
Earle  Mason  would,  but  he  says  it  ought  to  be  a 
woman.  Elsie,  you  can  pray  ?  " 

A  moment  of  solemn  silence,  and  then  Elsie, 
almost  as  white  as  the  marble  bust  near  which  she 
stood,  spoke  again  — 

"Yes,  I  can  pray;  and  I  will.  Fern,  you  may 
depend  upon  me,  to-night." 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  they,  coming 
from  different  ways,  paused  to  take  a  good-night 
look  at  the  sleeping  king.  "They,"  being  Aunt 
Hannah,  and  Martha,  and  John.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  say  there  were  four  of  them,  for  Aunt  Hepsy 
hovered  in  the  near  distance  intent  on  some  work 
for  the  young  king.  Talk  about  slaves  and 
tyrants  !  If  ever  there  was  a  tyrant  in  the  flesh  his 
name  was  John  Remington,  junior;  and  the  most 
devoted  and  utterly  self  forgetful  of  his  many 
slaves  was  Aunt  Hepsy  Stone.  The  intensity  of 
her  devotion  had  its  rise  in  what  we  are  p] eased 
to  call  an  accidental  circumstance.  Much  discus- 
sion had  been  had  between  this  new  father  and 
mother  as  to  the  newcomer's  middle  name.  Of 
course  he  was  to  be  John  Remington ;  thus  much 
had  been  decreed  from  the  very  fin-4  •  the  young 


J.    S.    R.  425 

mother  having  an  air  of  firmness  and  decision 
about  her  whenever  the  subject  was  hinted  at, 
which  discouraged  any  other  suggestion.  But  a 
middle  name  she  was  willing  to  talk  over,  and 
held  herself  open  to  conviction.  At  least,  she 
received  proposals  graciously  enough,  but  none 
of  them  suited  her.  "  A  name  is  such  an  import- 
ant thing,"  she  said.  "You  cannot  cast  it  aside 
after  childhood  is  over,  and  try  another;  it  is  a 
life-long  companion,  and  stays  behind,  even  after 
you  are  done  with  this  part  of  life ;  sometimes  is 
immortal^'  This  last  with  a  fond  look  at  the 
young  immortal  among  the  blankets;  a  look 
which  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  done  — 
"  He  will  glorify  his  name ;  mark  my  words  !  " 

"Then  I  should  think  you  would  want  some- 
thing less  commonplace  and  prosaic  than  'John' 
for  him,"  would  the  amused  father  say,  partly  in 
earnest,  and  partly  to  see  the  new  dignity  on  the 
mother's  face  and  hear  it  in  her  voice,  as  she 
said  —  "I  like  John ;  I  always  have ;  I  like  it 
better  than  any  other  name.  Beside,  it  was  the 
name  of  the  beloved  disciple,  you  know.  I  want 
my  John  to  be  another  of  whom  it  shall  be  said  — 
'That  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved'."  Then,  after 
a  little — "Middle  names  are  important  because 
of  the  initials.  'J.  R.' —  that  is  too  short;  we 
need  something  which  will  slip  in  between  those 
two  letters  and  harmonize.  I  should  like  your 


426  j.  s.  R. 

initials,  John,  «J.  S.  R.,'  only  your  middle  name  is 
simply  horrid.  I  always  disliked  the  sound  of 
Sylvester;  my  baby  shall  never  bear  it."  So 
every  name  in  the  college  catalogues,  and  church 
records,  was  by  turns  discussed  and  abandoned, 
until  it  began  to  seem  that  there  was  no  name  as 
yet  coined  good  enough  for  the  new  baby. 

They  were  looking,  one  evening,  at  an  ancient 
engraving;  a  massive  shield  with  its  Latin  motto 
and  its  curious  carvings,  and  as  they  looked,  the 
minister  said,  slowly,  meditatively,  as  though 
thinking  aloud  instead  of  talking — "He  is  a 
shield  unto  them  that  put  their  trust  in  Him." 
And  the  mother,  looking  at  the  shield  and  then  at 
the  sleeping  baby,  thinking  of  the  weary,  danger- 
ous way  the  small  feet  must  travel,  longing,  oh,  so 
earnestly,  that  he  might  be  shielded  even  by  that 
Almighty  One,  said,  suddenly  —  "Oh,  John,  let 
us  give  him  ' Shield'  for  his  middle  name.  John 
Shield  Remington ;  that  will  give  him  the  same 
initials  as  yours,  and  it  is  not  a  commonplace 
name ;  it  is  dignified,  and  at  the  same  time  sim- 
ple and  unpretentious ;  and  it  cannot  be  twisted 
into  some  silly  diminutive;  beside,  when  he  is 
old  enough,  we  can  tell  him  how  we  came  to 
choose  it." 

"The  Lord  God  is  a  sun  and  shield,"  quoted 
the  father,  smiling.  "It  is  an  original  name, 
certainly,  but  I  like  it."  Thus  was  the  moment- 


J.     S.    R.  427 

ous  question  settled.  -A  few  days  later,  when 
Aunt  Hepsy  took  the  morsel  in  her  arms  which 
was  henceforth  to  rule  her  life,  and  tried  to  look 
grim  and  sensible,  and  do  her  best  at  convincing 
this  silly  father  and  mother  that  whatever  Han, 
nah  might  do  she  was  by  all  means  determined 
that  she  would  not  go  into  her  dotage  and  make 
a  fool  of  herself  over  that  baby ;  looking  down  on 
its  sweet  helplessness,  at  the  blueness  of  its  eyes, 
and  the  utter  trustfulness  with  which  it  lay  in  her 
arms,  something  very  like  a  tremor  sounded  in 
her  voice  as  she  asked  —  "What  is  his  name?" 

"John  Shield  Remington,"  said  the  mother, 
promptly ;  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  able 
to  speak  it  in  full,  as  a  matter  of  information. 
She  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  effect  produced. 
Aunt  Hepsy  gave  so  sudden  a  start  as  to  nearly 
upset  the  baby,  and  said,  "What!"  almost  as 
sharply  as  though  she  had  been  a  gun,  and  had 
exploded. 

"John  Shield  Remington,"  repeated  the  won- 
dering mother,  lingering  over  the  syllables  ;  "don't 
you  like  the  name?  I  do,  very  much." 

Aunt  Hepsy's  face  was  working  strangely. 
The  wrinkles  about  her  mouth  twitched  and  quiv- 
ered; she  struggled  with  her  throat,  with  her 
eyes,  with  her  voice,  and  at  last  said  in  tones 
which  shook  with  feeling,  the  while  two  tears 
rolled  slowly  down,  dropping  one  on  her  nose,  the 


428  j.  s.  R. 

other  plump  on  the  baby's  cheek.  "I  didn't 
expect  it  nor  dream  it ;  but  I'll  never  forget  it, 
never!  And  the  boy  will  not  have  reason  to 
regret  it ;  neither  will  his  father  and  mother ; 
mind  you  that !  "  Whereupon  she  laid  the  bundle 
of  flannel  very  unceremoniously  in  his  Aunt  Han- 
nah's arms  and  left  the  room. 

"Poor  dear  heart,"  said  that  woman,  very 
gently,  as  she  skillfully  manipulated  the  flannel, 
and  arranged  the  long,  white  robes;  "to  think 
that  we  should  never  once  have  thought  of  it,  and 
I  knew  it  so  well ;  but  it  went  out  of  my  mind 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago ;  and  to 
think  that  she  cares  so  much ! " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  John  and  Mattie  in  the 
same  breath. 

"Why,  his  name  was  Shield  —  Joab  Shield 
Stone ;  it  was  his  mother's  family  name,  you 
know;  she  belonged  to  the  Shields  of  New 
England.  He  liked  the  name,  Joab  did;  I've 
heard  him  speak  it  with  a  kind  of  lingering  ten- 
derness many  a  time ;  he  was  uncommonly  fond 
of  his  mother,  Joab  was.  And  to  think  that  I 
should  have  forgotten  !  But  I  didn't  know  that 
Hepsy  cared  about  such  things.  We  don't  know 
one  another  very  well  in  this  world,  after  all." 

The  young  mother  and  father  looked  at  each 
other,  half  amused,  half  embarrassed ;  they  had 
not  thought  of  Joab  Stone;  Mattie  had  never 


J.    S.    R.  429 

thought  of  him  twice  in  her  life ;  to  John  he  was 
a  dream   of  an   early   childhood,   that   had    faded 
long  ago.     They  had  neither  of  them  so  much  as  \ 
known  that   he  laid  any   claim   to  the    name    of' 
Shield ;    and    here   they   were    supposed    to    have 
named  their  baby  for  him !     And   then   to   think 
that    Aunt    Hepsy    cared !       She    of    all    women 
indulging  in  such  tender  sentiment  over  a  name ! 

The  baby's  cheek  was  still  wet  with  that  one 
tear  she  had  dropped !  As  the  mother  leaned 
over  to  brush  it  away,  the  father  spoke  in  a  low, 
moved  tone — "He  was  a  good  man,  Mattie;  a 
pure-hearted,  God-fearing,  faithful  man ;  shall  we 
keep  the  accidental  part  a  sacred  secret  between 
us,  and  consider  our  baby  named  for  him?" 

"  I  like  to  have  it  so,"  said  Mattie,  gently ;  "  I 
am  so  glad  that  Aunt  Hepsy  cares." 

Well  they  might  have  been.  Even  she  did 
not  know  how  utterly  unselfish,  and  tender,  and 
patient,  and  absorbed  she  could  become  over  that 
small  morsel  of  humanity  who  had  come  into  her 
heart.  But  God  knew;  and  I  like  to  think  that 
he  planned  this  sweet  surprise  in  her  old  age  for 
Aunt  Hepsy  Stone. 

So  they  stood  that  evening,  beside  his  crib,  tak- 
ing a  good-night  look  at  John  Shield  Remington 
—  Aunt  Hannah,  and  Martha  and  John.  Aunt 
Hepsy  had  been  there  and  gone,  intent  on  some 
bit  of  flannel  which  she  believed  should  be  aired 


430  j.  s.  R. 

for  the  morrow's  use,  only  by  her  own  careful 
hands. 

"Young  mothers  don't  understand;  how  should 
they  ? "  she  had  said,  as  she  bustled  away.  But 
the  look  which  she  had  bestowed  on  Martha  as 
she  said  the  words,  had  been  full  of  a  lingering 
tenderness  which  often  shone  in  her  eyes  during 
these  days.  "  Martha  is  maturing  very  well 
indeed,"  she  had  confessed  to  Aunt  Hannah  but 
a  few  days  before ;  she  did  not  know  but  she  was 
as  good  a  choice  on  the  whole  as  they  could  have 
had  for  the  baby's  mother! 

"I  should  think  as  much?"  the  minister  had 
said ;  but  he  had  laughed  as  he  said  it,  and  they 
had  all  laughed;  and  someway,  it  was  very  easy 
to  be  patient  with  Aunt  Hepsy  nowadays. 

To-night,  though,  Mattie's  face  had  a  tender 
sadness  upon  it.  "I  thought  I  should  hear  from 
Elsie  this  evening,"  she  said.  "My  heart  aches 
for  her;  it  seems  so  strange  that  we  should  have 
had  to  leave  her  just  now  in  her  hour  of  peril ;  I 
cannot  like  to  think  of  her  as  that  man's  wife;  and 
yet,  I  am  afraid  she  will  marry  him.  The  world, 
the  flesh,  and  her  step-mother  will  be  too  much 
for  her,  I  am  afraid.  John,  dear,  I  really  believe 
he  is  going  to  have  dark-  hair  like  yours.  I  shall 
be  so  glad  of  that." 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  Mattie,  Aleck  Palmer? 
I  had  an  impression  that  he  was  the  last  mascu- 


J.    S.    R.  431 

line  you  mentioned."  This  was  the  minister's 
merry  reply,  and  then  they  laughed  a  little,  as 
people  will,  sometimes,  even  when  grave  thoughts 
are  pressing  up  behind  the  gaiety.  John  Reming- 
ton's face  sobered  almost  immediately.  "I  hope 
he  will  be  a  better  man  than  I  have  been,  Mattie, 
and  be  able  to  do  some  of  his  father's  work; 
accomplish  where  I  have  failed.  I  hope  he  will 
preach  the  gospel,  and  succeed  in  what  I  have 
only  attempted." 

"If  he  grows  up  to  be  as  good  and  true  and 
brave  a  man  as  his  father,  I  shall  be  quite,  quite 
satisfied."  This  from  Mattie,  with  a  firm  clasp  of 
the  hand  that  was  resting  on  her  shoulder.  "I 
do  not  like  to  hear  you  say  you  have  failed;  if 
you  have,  the  Lord  Jesus  did.  They  would  not 
endure  his  preaching,  you  know." 

"And  beside,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  in  the  grim 
tone  which  with  her  always  covered  strong  feeling, 
"you  are  rather  young  yet  to  be  a  patriarch;  I've 
no  objections  to  the  child  being  as  good  a  man  as 
you  please,  and  doing  plenty  of  his  own  work,  or 
rather  the  Lord's ;  but  you  two,  John  and  Martha, 
have  just  begun  life;  it  is  all  before  you,  as  it 
were ;  don't  go  to  talking  as  though  you  had  left 
it  behind,  and  had  finished  your  course,  and  kept 
the  faith,  and  were  already  watching  out  for  the 
crown.  You  haven't  got  there  yet ;  and  its  more 
than  likely  you  will  have  plenty  of  hard  rubs  and 


432  j.  s.  R. 

tugs  before  you  do.  And  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  try  to  shoulder  too  much  of  that  child 
Elsie's  burdens,  either — not  the  Lord's  end,  I 
mean.  I  tell  you  He'll  take  care  of  his  own,  even 
though  you  and  I  are  not  there  to  help.  If  he 
had  wanted  you  by  her  side  any  longer  he  would 
have  had  you  stay.  He  manages  things;  just  let 
us  remember  that." 

John  Remington  reached  forth  his  unoccupied 
arm  and  drew  Aunt  Hannah  into  his  embrace  as 
he  said  with  a  cheerful  laugh — "Aunt  Hannah, 
what  do  you  suppose  'Martha'  and  I  would  do 
without  your  strong  common  sense  to  ballast 
us  ? " 

Aunt  Hepsy  bustled  in  at  the  moment.  "  I  do 
wish  you  wouldn't  talk  and  laugh  right  over  his 
head,"  she  said;  "it  isn't  good  for  a  baby's 
nerves." 


THE  END. 


D.    LOTHROP  COMPANY'S 


BROOKS  (Elbridge  S.),  continued. 

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compendium  of  archaeology,  history,  pres-  author  has  certain  definite  moral  convic- 

ent  standing  and  outlook  of  our  nation's  tions  on  the   subject   that   he   expresses 

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ten  and  embodies  a  vast  deal  of  pertinent  Boston, 
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much  study  and  careful  research,  U  is  nevertheless  as  dashing,  as  brilliant,  as  pictur- 
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a  study  and  history."  —  Brooklyn  Times.  brief  and  well-written   story."  —  Boston 

"An  exhilarating,  picturesque  and  en-  Herald. 

tertaining  story  and  yet  one  that  is  prac-  "  Not  only  beautiful,  but   instructive 

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'  Historic  Boys,' '  Historic  Girls '  and  in  American     Union     abounds."  —  Boston 

his  brilliant  '  Story  of  the  American  In-  Traveller. 

dian,'  and  his  present  volume  will  cer-  "  The  narrative  is  more  like  a  charming 

tainly  add  to  this  reputation.     It  is  what  fireside  legend  told   by  a  grandfather  to 

it  purports  to  be,  a  story  of  the  begin-  eager  children,  than  the  dry  and  pompous 

nings  and  of  the  marvelous  development  chronicles  commonly  labelled   'history.' 

of  what  has  come  to  be  the  Empire  State  Having  already  digested  the  writings  of 

of  America  —  and  he  has  made  it  a  most  the   experts  —  historians,   novelists    and 

interesting  one.     There  are  dull  matters  philosophers  —  who    have     studied    and 

for  the  average  reader  in  the  slow  growth  written  upon  New  Netherlands  and  Col- 

of    American  institutions.      These   Mr.  onial,  Revolutionary   and  modern    New 

Brooks  leaves  for  the  antiquarian  to  dwell  York,  Mr.  Brooks  proceeds  to  tell  a  good 

upon  in  detail,  while  he  devotes  more  at-  story."  —  N.  Y.  Critic. 

*  Pecorrnvnjled  by  the  State  Boards  of  Wisconsin  and  other  States  for  their  public 
school  libraries. 


SELECT   LIST  OF   BOOKS.  3 

ADAMS  (Sarah  B.). 

AMY     AND     MARION'S     VOYAGE    AROUND    THE 
WORLD.    I2mo,  illustrations  from  original  photographs,  1.25. 
Sketches  from  a  journal  kept  by  two  sisters. 

ADAMS  (Rev.  Wm.  H.). 

THE    SEVEN    WORDS    FROM    THE   CROSS.      12010, 

1. 00 
Meditations  on  the  last  sayings  of  Christ. 

AFRICAN     ADVENTURE    AND     ADVENT- 
URERS. 

Edited  by  Rev.  G.  T.  Day.     I2mo,  illustrated,  i.oo.     (3) 
An  epitome  of  the  elaborate  works  of  Bruce,  Speke,  Grant,  Baker  and  Livingstone. 

ALDEN  (Mrs.  G.  R.).     (See  PANSY). 
ALDEN  (Raymond  M.). 

A  WORLD  OF  LITTLE  PEOPLE.*  Illustrated,  I2mo,  .60. 

In  this  little  volume  the  author  gives  an  exhaustive  description  of  ant-life,  making 
the  ants  themselves  the  characters  of  the  story,  and  the  ant-hills  of  the  various  tribes 
the  scenes  of  the  incidents  described.  Incidentally  there  is  a  good  deal  of  interesting 
information  given  about  other  insects  and  their  curious  habits. 

ALLEN  (Grant). 

COMMON    SENSE   SCIENCE.     i2mo,  1.25.     (5) 

"  The  brilliant  novelist  and  essayist,  facts  and  strongly  stated  deductions,  that 

Grant   Allen,    has   grouped   a   series  of  keep    up    a     continual     lively     interest 

twenty-eight   essays  —  or    chapters  —  on  throughout  the  whole."  —  Boston  Hottu 

as  many  different  subjects,  treated  in  just  Journal. 

the  way  to  make  them  suggestive,  and  to  "  It  will  do  equally  for  the  professional 
awaken  interest  in  further  investigation.  naturalist,  the  reader  who  seeks  a  pleas- 
Mr.  Allen  is  especially  interesting  in  the  ant  entertainment,  and  the  happy  young 
treatment  of  natural  history  topics,  also  men  and  women  who  want  an  introduc- 
those  relating  to  what  may  be  termed  tion  to  the  study  of  nature.  Mr.  Allen 
everyday  science.  The  object  of  the  is  fully  abreast  of  natural  history  —  not  a 
author  in  these  little  essays  was  to  place  slight  achievement  —  and  he  is  one  of 
before  the  American  readers  some  of  the  the  most  delightful  essayists  of  our  time, 
latest  results  of  modern  science,  in  sim-  combining  German  scholarship  with 
pie,  clear  and  intelligible  language.  Mr.  British  sense  and  French  grace."  — 
Allen,  by  a  series  of  illustrative  facts,  Boston  Beacon. 

shows  how  curiously  all  things  are  inter-  "  Grant  Allen  has  the  merit  of  writing 
laced  in  this  world,  one  thing  so  dovetail-  seriously  in  the  most  sprightly  and  inter- 
ing  into  the  next  that  it  is  impossible  to  esting  manner." —  Independent,  N.  Y. 
alter  one  of  the  pieces  in  the  least  degree  "  No  more  thought-compelling  book 
without  upsetting  the  harmony  of  the  can  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  an  intelli- 
whole.  From  one  essay  to  another  the  gent,  ambitious  young  man  or  woman 
reader  is  constantly  coming  upon  curious  than  this."—  Chicago  Tribune. 

ALLEN  (Mary  E.).     (See  Safford,  Mary  J.). 

*  Recommended  by  the  State  Boards  of  Wisconsin  and  other  States  for  their  public 
school  libraries. 


D.    LOTHROP  COMPANY'S 


DAVIS  (M.  E.  M.). 

IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA 

illustrations  by  Kemble,  1.25. 

"  '  In  War-Times  at  La  Rose  Blanche,' 
by  M.  E.  M.  Davis,  is  one  of  those 
charming  books  so  naturally  written  that 
the  reader  feels  as  if  he  himself  had  lived 
its  scenes,  had  heard  the  little  '  Gunnel's 
vally'  ask,  '  Marse  Jim,  has  you  seen 
marster?'  had  watched  the  fortunes  of 
the  dish-rag  bonnet,  had  seen  the  four 
lads  with  their  bran-new  uniforms  start 
proudly  off  for  the  War,  and  seen  them 
thin  and  ragged  return  to  feast  off  '  po' 
souls.'  It  has  always  seemed  to  us  that 
a  book  like  this,  with  its  sketchy  tender 
touches  here  and  there  of  humor,  joy  and 
grief,  is  far  more  '  realistic '  than  a  novel." 
—  Critic,  N.  Y. 

"The  whole  book  in  its  truth  and  ten- 
derness  is  like  one  of  its  own  pictures — 
a  morning-glory  growing  on  a  soldier- 
boy's  grave.  '  —  New  York  Nation. 

The  author  writes  with  a  graceful 
pen?  with  a  sweet,  half-humorous  sim- 
plicity and  lightness  of  touch  that  makes 
the  work  a  constant  delight.  And  the 
feeling  is  so  true,  the  humor  so  bright, 


ROSE    BLANCHE,     ismo, 


the  pathos  so  appealing,  though  never 
insistent,  that  the  book  is  almost  perfec- 
tion." —  Boston  A  dvertiser. 

"The  really  good  book  of  Southern 
war  stories  for  children  waited  until  it 
appeared  in  the  shape  of  '  In  War-Times.' 
It  is  all  there ;  it  is  all  in  the  little  book 
with  its  twelve  stories,  some  gay  and 
some  sad,  and  its  delightful  tale  o£  doll- 
housekeeping,  and  if  there  be  any  child, 
or,  indeed,  any  older  reader  who  will  not 
cry  over  the  '  Gunnel's  Vally '  let  North 
and  South  both  reject  him.  '  'Twas  a 
long,  long  time  on  de  way '  but  '  La  Rose 
Blanche Y  means  that  the  good  time  for 
the  children  is  here  and  that  the  Southern 
side  of  the  war  story  is  going  to  be  writ- 
ten for  them."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"The  most  charming  description  of 
child-life  in  the  South  that  has  yet  been 
published."  —  Golden  Rule. 

"  Full  of  quaint  negro  dialect  of  which 
Mrs.  Davis  is  master."  —  New  Orleans 
Picayune. 


DA  WES  (Anna  Laurens). 

HOW  WE  ARE  GOVERNED.     I2mo,  1.50. 

The  object  of  this  useful  work  is  fully  explained  by  the  title;  the  constitution  is 
given  in  full,  and  then  each  clause  is  taken  up  separately  and  explained  in  such  a  clear, 
interesting  way,  that  any  one  in  search  of  this  kind  of  information  will  take  pleasure  in 
reading  it. 

"  Her  description  is  admirably  clear, 
lucid  and  intelligible.  She  has  that  pecu- 
liar power  of  clear-cut  statement  which, 
in  an  instrucror,  whether  he  wields  the 
pen  or  sits  in  the  professor's  chair,  is  the 
first  and  fundamental,  as  it  is  the  rarest, 
qualification  for  success.  In  this  respect 


her  style  reminds  us  of  that  of  Mr.  Nord- 
hoff  or  of  the  late    Jacob  Abbott."  — 
Christian  Union. 
"  It  is  not  easy  to  name  a  book  that  ex- 

Slains  the  workings  of  our  system  more 
itelligently  and  impartially  than  this." 
Cincinnati  Commercial  Gazette. 


THE  MODERN  JEW: 

paper,  .25;  cloth,  .50. 


His    Present    and    Future.      i6mo 


DAWES  (Mrs.  S.  E.). 

ETHEL'S  YEAR  AT  ASHTON.     I2mo,  illustrated,  1.25. 

"'Ethel's  Year  at  Ashton  '  is  full  of 
vivacity  and  vigor  which  are  necessary  for 
an  interesting  story,  and  pervaded  with 
true  Ghristian  love  that  gives  it  value.  A 
young  girl  comes  into  a  farmer's  family, 
provided  only  with  the  motto,  '  Seek  daily 
opportunities  of  doing  good,'  and  a  sweet 
aff  ectionate  nature  to  carry  out  the  motto. 
Her  influence  upon  a  narrow  household, 


in  which  darning  and  earning  are  the  chief 
aims,  is  developed  with  much  good  taste 
and  feeling.  A  literary  club  and  other 
means  of  improvement  make  a  new  place 
of  the  little  country  village.  Besides  the 
incidents  told  naturally  and  vividly,  the 
story  contains  many  well-drawn  oharac- 
ters.  "  —  Boston  Journal. 


SELECT   LIST  OF   BOOKS. 


FAITH  AND  ACTION. 

Selections  from  the  writings  of  F.  D.  Maurice.  With  preface  by 
Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  D.  D.  I2mo,  i.oo. 

Few  English  clergymen  are  better  known  in  this  country  than  Frederic  D.  Maurice, 
whose  untimely  death,  some  years  ago,  deprived  not  only  England,  but  the  Christian 
world,  of  one  of  its  ablest  religious  teachers.  He  devoted  a  great  deal  of  his  time  to 
the  social  and  religious  needs  of  the  common  people. 

Maurice  was  a  dear  friend  of  Tennyson.  The  following  lines  in  one  of  the  poet's 
best-known  pieces  i  ef  er  to  his  friend  : 

"  How  best  to  help  the  slender  store, 
How  mend  the  dwellings  of  the  poor, 
How  gain  in  life  as  life  advances, 
Valor  and  charity  more  and  more." 

FARMAN  (Ella).     (Mrs.  C.  S.  Pratt.) 

Ella  Farman  is  the  editor  of  WIDE  AWAKE,  and  her  books  are  full  of  sympathy  with 
girl-life,  always  sunshiny  and  hopeful,  always  pointing  out  new  ways  to  do  things  and 
unexpected  causes  for  happiness  and  gladness. 

THE     COOKING-CLUB     OF     TU-WHIT     HOLLOW. 

I2mo,  illustrated  1.25. 

The  practical  instructions  in  housewifery,  which  are  abundant,  are  set  in  the  midst 
of  a  bright  wholesome  story.  Girls  who  read  this  book  will  not  be  able  to  keep  house 
at  once,  but  they  will  learn  to  do  some  things,  and  they  will  have  an  hour  or  two  of 
genuine  pleasure  in  discovering  how  there  came  to  be  a  cooking-club  and  in  tracing  its 
history. 

GOOD-FOR-NOTHING  POLLY.     I2mo,  illustrated,  i.oo. 

Polly  is  not  a  girl  at  all,  but  a  boy,  a  slangy,  school-hatjng,  fun-lov'ng,  wilful,  big- 
ftearted  boy.  "  Nagged  "  continually  at  homej  he  wastes  his  time  upon  the  streetsand 
finally  runs  away.  The  book  tells  of  his  adventures.  Mrs.  Pratt  has  a  keen  insight 
into  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  little  appreciated  boy-life.  Like  Robert  J.  Burdette, 
she  is  a  master  of  humor  and  often  touches  a  tender  chord  of  pathos.  Every  boy  will 
be  delighted  with  this  book  and  every  mother  ought  to  read  it  who  is,  all  unwittingly 
perhaps,  "freezing"  her  own  noisy  boy  out  of  the  home. 

" '  Good-for-Nothing  Polly '  will  doubt-        England  as  it  has  already  done  in  the 
less    gam  the  admiration   and  win    the        United  States."  —  Bookseller,  London, 
graces  of  as  large  a  circle  of  readers  in 

HOW  TWO  GIRLS  TRIED  FARMING.  i2mo,  illustrated, 
i.oo. 

A  narrative  of  an  actual  experience. 

"  The  two  girls  who  tried  farming  pigs  and  chickens,  and  as  they  do  every- 
solved  a  problem  by  taking  the  bull  by  thing  to  the  best  of  their  abilitv,  their 
the  horns,  and  that  is  often  as  effectual  a  products  are  in  constant  demand.''  —  St. 
means  as  can  be  resorted  to.  They  had  Louis  Post  Despatch. 
for  capital  one  thousand  dollars.  With  "  We  recommend  it  to  those  girls  who 
this  they  bought  thirty-five  acres  of  are  wearing  out  their  lives  at  the  sewing- 
scraggy  farm  land.  Then  they  hired  out  machine,  behind  counters  or  even  at  the 
as  lady  help  for  the  winter  and  laid  by  te.icher's  desk."  —  New  York  Herald. 
enough  money  to  buy  clover  seed,  and  a  "  The  success  of  the  farm  is  almost 
horse  and  a  few  other  necessities.  Dolly  surpassed  by  the  charm  of  the  record, 
had  learned  to  plough  and  harrow  and  It  shows  a  touch  of  refinement  and  a 
rnake  hay,  and  even  to  cut  wood.  Both  degree  of  literary  skill  no  less  uncommon 
girls  worked  hard  and  it  is  pleasant  to  than  the  enterprise  which  has  converted 
chronicle  their  success.  Now  they  have  a  bleak  hill-top  of  Michigan  into  a  sinil* 
a  prosperous  farm,  and  raise  cows, sheep,  ing  garden."— AVw  York  TribttMt. 


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